yELLOWBRICK
iNSTITUTION
rain sheets clothe the bare trees
hiding their upheld arms
in silent pleas
for a sun that won't shine;
where misty seas of wind
sway thick limbs misshapen
sodden leaves swirling
on the ground forsaken:
a careless carpet of spring ideals.
a glimpse -no more-,
of iridescent bluesky;
a freedom reflected
off reflected glass,
unreachable in its transparence;
yet its promise is more real
than the dark trees
stark of leaves
living shivering cold
against the yellowbrick
institution ...
Life
used to be spring
but fell into clay;
Alice come home
to your wonderland grey!
