Vanilla sky, strawberry rippled
blue swirls, spinning rhymes, fluffing clouds high
while bellowing puffs through which planes fly.
Sherbet, multi-layered rainbow hues
in edible plumes, shatters, crystals,
that kisses the grasses and thistle.
It’s a bleak, vanilla dawn, mourning.

Fading ember light holds us aglow,
nights’ velvet curtains shutter away day,
chasing lonely sparkling shadows astray.
Earth’s glorious eyes see ev’rything—
peer through tentacles of flesh and blood
into the bowels of crude lust, crud.
No wonder the vanilla’s mourning!

Man’s folly—blood—stains vanilla, steams,
as mourning breaks and floods all our dreams.
The sun, sadly sobbing, turns black, cries.
All life on earth--scorched, devoured—dies.
Turn back time to find some peace on earth,
those we don’t agree with … give them berth.
Live and let live … for vanilla skies.

Life’s inner hue's mellow vanilla.