Until yesterday the skies
froze to the colours of grey,
the world may have looked a sundry place
while it drenched
in its visions of dismay.
Beheld, the figurative clouds
tricked and frayed
like a whizzler on a sunny day
and a saint wrecking damages to the bay
illusions, delusions, mysteries, what not!
failed to make up for its own discord
just as the silver lining
flung to pieces
as a frail sunshine, consumed it all
from the arms of its mirage
"let there be storm in the guise of gust
or be heaven dressed in absolute crimson."