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.
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Posted for Girlie on the Edge’s Blog Six Sentence Story, cue word Perch.
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.
When the pen takes control. 
Thank you, Bobby, this was extremely kind of you to reblog this here for me. I am honored…
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