The Sky slouched deeper into its seat, <br />Deeper into its sulk <br />Brooding upon it with all the sullen energy it could muster. <br />No childish mood, this, <br />But a full-blown, storm-force, adult depression <br />Where the initial impulse <br />Had long since bowed <br />Before the critical mass of its consequence. <br /> <br />The sky seemed to be taking a perverse pleasure <br />In its own discomfort <br />Growling under its breath its ‘couldn’t care less’ distain <br />For anything incapable of feeding <br />The slowly spinning whirlpool of weariness <br />Into which it was losing itself. <br /> <br />Greys collected themselves from the Four Winds <br />And were mixed with quiet yet evil intent <br />Upon Sky’s unusually bare, monochrome palette: <br />More black - less white <br />More black - less white <br />Their sadistic spell cast, <br />Chanting, Hecate-like, <br />Upon almost still, malevolent air <br />Which seemed to suck the life out of the sound of the world below. <br /> <br />Seagulls wheeled across the blackening blue-grey, <br />Intense white arcs thrown into stark relief: <br />Gracefully-embraced freedom <br />Against hulking, lumbering, self-imposed captivity. <br /> <br />The weight of water above surely heralded <br />Depression’s inevitable terminus in torrents of rage or tears, <br />Yet no. <br />The heart went out of it, <br />Boredom set in <br />And Sky simply couldn’t be bothered to stoke its storm any longer <br />And fell back, fed up, without the will to concentrate it to a conclusion. <br />Not quite giving up. <br />Not quite letting go. <br />Not yet anyway. <br /> <br />A little white found its way into the blackest grey, but not very far. <br />There was still a lot of black on the palette knife <br />For when the Sky had a mind. <br /> <br /> <br />[20.11.03]<br /><br />Tony Jolley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sulking-sky/
