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 |   A 52-week poetic adventure… |
| Storm clouds roll overhead, Blocking out normally turquoise sunny skies. Red tile rooftops, Narrow stair-stepped alleyway, Distant seashore: Straight from a painting. She sits elegant at a wrought iron table Between slender Italian cypresses Nursing an empty wineglass— Preoccupied. Why the furrowed brow, dear lady? Does not the charming setting evoke a smile? Is it some romantic ship gone wrong? Was merely the sun too bright moments before And you forget to relax under the shaded cloud? Perhaps some deep, dark, existential crisis Born of despairing sighs at midnight under a full Tuscan moon? Or a nagging unpleasant dream just out of reach? Or maybe your expression is default: A baseline set too low Unwittingly moody Parenthetically pathetic Causing strangers to wonder, Asking, pestering: "Why are you so sad?" "Is everything ok?" "Are you in trouble?" When you're nothing of the sort, Only contemplating seriously What you'll have for dinner Which bills need payment And whether God exists. Lines: 37. Words: 158. Prompt:  |
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