Gaze upon the beauty to be found in these 50 shades of grave.
Left perched upon a parapet, this mortuary mine.
I weep Poseidon’s saline tears, ‘neath a somber scudding sky.
As moisture inundated clouds, exhale Sedna’s plankton perfumed breath.
And agitated arctic gales, pass o’re her frozen lips.
Left anchored in abandon, aloft this landlocked marginof death.
Inflicted fallen fortress turned, skeletal black crows nest.
Following Clark’s lead from a couple of weeks back and taking a poetic turn on the prompt, I made what I consider much better use of a line idea I first used in another poem I called Despised Conundrum.