Silver Lining

Her mother always told her on nights the stars ceased shining
To stop and smell the roses, to find the silver lining
She wakes up one morning to gaze outside her window
As God paints the solemn sunrise rising like a great crescendo
The mundane milky mauve, the flash of lurid light
The swollen bloodshot burgundy, O foul epitome of sight
The icy sweat of dawn, the bitter cold that bites
Its dreariness is heavy, despite the beauty it invites
Sternutatory blossoms, their powdery pollution
Like fires bleeding soot, inhaling health diminution
But the margins of the layers between apricot and rose
Something strange had shifted as though from poetry to prose
The cataclysmic cataract in the cobalt canopy
The evanescent Eden-the cold, entropic vanity
Daylight coruscates its carnal, colored canvas
And with the night, it's confiscated-sewn shut by the canthus
She wakes up that morning to gaze outside her window
And although she cannot see it, she remembers that crescendo...
The soothing swaths of lavender, the streaks of sunny yellow
The vibrant glow of crimson as soft and tender as a cello
The pellucid pearls of dew condensed on blades of grass
Sweet crystalline perfection fragile as a shard of glass
The honeysuckle blossoms with their fragrance so enticing
Their delicate anatomy, eye and beauty splicing
And although she would always miss the stars of glory shining
She finally knew that sight was blind; she had found a silver lining

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