New Word Poem no. 22 – Insipid

I do quite think insipidity,

Is a woefully limiting trait,

If I was found lacking in creative vigor,

It would leave me in quite a state.

 

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New Word Poem no. 22 – Insipid

Spectrum of the Sun

An amber landscape expends across the rambling hills,
The Barren trees stretch desperately towards the sky,
As the higher they climb,
The more they are engulfed by the overwhelming beauty.

The dying embers of the sun race to cover the land in honeyed hues,
Extending across the landscape in rays,
Slowly melting toward the horizon.

All colours become the spectrum of the sun.

Spectrum of the Sun