red moon lingers

dragging her amber sky

though it's not afternoon

not even evening

yes, the year draws to a close

she has more time

yet it's early morning

this image feels like some form of sign

the seaguls squark

I don't understand their talk

their context is void too

the waters seem to be waking

sounding restless

stretching, growning, creaking

traveling through tunnels

the manmade channels inside

which should be baking

where was the bright light?

he who doesn't own the night

arriving late?

or consealed by the golden, now dull curtains

the funk sheilding the heavens

will a sunny disposition help?

encourage him to power through

as we are suppose to do?