Dusk fills the sky and earth sublime alike,
as if sky fell in love with earth.
Seldom they communicate,
just a stray peacock or sparrow calling the home coming.
Guess they are encouraged by how nature makes love,
the circle so perfect.
Maybe there is little beyond.
Belief snubbed as the sky breathes destiny,
incompetent is the art.
Creativity or mock, a schism dissecting me,
coming across the weak budding weekly fundamentals unique, meager and meek.
Wanna be strokes of red and yellow,
blacking out the intellect of horizon.
Briefing my dim witted intellect,
as if sky only knew its hierarchy heralding the hope of a dawn.
After all hierarchy the jargon of monarchs and monopolists,
manipulating there lives on the ironic tyranny of ill sports.
Oh! will the frantic fregerence fill familiar rejection in my heart,
feeling failure humbling my flight.b
 -capt. looney