kurtina

1.47am
2.23.o9

i feel a change coming.
the dust that cling on the
billowing breeze go past
the window pane.
it is sadness they always bring.
they blur the glass windows.
they antiquate the television
and alter the shade of things
into the lonely color of wood.
from my bed, i noticed
the green curtain swaying to
the direction of the air
spun by the whirring electric fan.
it's a shade sadder than yesterday
a color almost like the half-withered
leaves of May.