Chlorinated Sky

Walking with words

Photo by Robert Șerban

Mustering
to shoulder myself.
Each step
mused into the next.
Wobbling
through vegetation,
wild and salad-like,
inching across
like caterpillars,
random, ordered,
purposeful,
each speck of color,
suitable, unaware
of its survival,
moseying
into death’s stampede.

Teetering
temporal terrain
within and without,
squinting
at the freshly chlorinated sky,
dipping
into noodles
of contrails
and cirrus,
brushing
gentle strokes
on deep blue canvas.

Observed
as words that left
a cacophony
of unimagined exposure,
echoed
from the dark room
of my photography,
bled
into white.

But every dawn
returns
their words—
not to eat
forbidden fruit.
Not to do
the things they said
were not for you.

So I forgave myself,
partook
of communion,
baptized
by deep blue sky,
surfacing
into cumulus
of light.

Just let that picture
develop.

Then,
turning around,
facing return,
the nucleus of genesis
began
scratching the cocoon,
inching
my way
home.

© Pixel Floyd, 2025
Originally published on Medium in Catharsis Chronicles