The Lizard Scurries Back Into Its Hole, As The Sky Above Is Wedded In A Unison Of Coral And Blue. The

A shade of green, the colour of a mid-July swimming pool by the sea at sunset, the colour of lush forests, soothing, comforting, yet so intense a shadow just beneath the surface, lurking fleetingly by the corners, somehow synonymous with the gradual lavender that covers the sky at dawn.

while reading virginia woolf in class, my university professor mentioned how most victorian women often wrote about going to the sea and one of the most common theories behind it was that the sea symbolises a mother's womb and hence, their desire to crawl back into it. i wonder why, even to this day, we all find a sense of solitude by the sea, almost as if the world around us doesn't exist.

“...what is the point of looking at things which must always be viewed in so crude a light? When there is no softened angle of memory, nor is there gladness of anticipation? I’ll carefully choose flowers from no mans garden through the frost, all for them to be displayed as accolades on the dusty precipice of another’s understanding...”

Blue skies-embers of sunset-a little pink butterfly blown somewhere against its will. Reminds me of someone can’t remember who.

I see uber has upped their game

Evening at the Balcony

I smoke the night from my neighbour's pipe

When the smell of baking bread and piano pieces

Are gone down with the sun, and the cloud creases

Over the sea of mountains where lights rest dove-like

I rise from a wasted pile of blankets and books for a hike

To the balcony. I stop at the corolla vines and stand by,

And wait with the jackdaws until the smoke billows up to the sky.

One night, sharing unseen my neighbour's cigarette

And their voices that lend themselves to a radio babble

I watched a single star warmed by the clouds and space rubble

It fluttered, almost clattered so bright

Its fire spilled and burned the balmy night.

One by one shreds of clouds caught spark and rushed away

And believe me when I say the moon hid under the trees today.

Tonight again, I waited at the moon for the shared smoke

And tonight I found a friend in the fig tree, it spoke

To me as I would have thought it might

But at its wild branches rustling the jackdaws took to flight

Yet alone I wasn't, for the purple tree and I

Could speak as old friends, warming up by and by

It knows now all the stale words and song

That fumes in my head all evening long.

In turn I have mapped out its lost heart.

- pollosky-in-blue

who needs a social life when you have followers who don’t talk to you and you run a blog no one cares about

*hints at eternally vague intentions*