FOUND

So, I found this written in a book I'm reading -- a little something I had jotted down and forgotten. This isn't the original. I'm too lazy right now to type it out, maybe later? You know (or maybe you don't) I'm on this metered poetry kick, right? So I decided to take a stab at turning this into a metered poem. I'm not sure as of yet where the subject of this poem is heading but the journey should be fun.

The sun set (as it does)
behind the thunderhead,
on a pathway that was
washed with pinks and with reds.
The sky shrank to a bruise.
And I saw this old wound
as something almost new...

{like pulling teeth, the line after this... actually, so were the lines after 'with pinks and with reds'... hm!}
{finally got it!}

The sun set (as it does)
behind a thunderhead,
on a pathway that was
washed with pinks and with reds.
The sky shrank to a bruise.
And I saw this old wound
as something almost new
under the argent moon...

{So I have a bit more to add, came up with that bit more tonight}

The sun set (as it does)
behind a thunderhead,
on a pathway that was
washed with pinks and with reds.
The sky shrank to a bruise.
And I saw this old wound
as something almost new
under the argent moon.
Fingers out, the stars, too,
gaped at the livid bloom
as if to ask, "But who...?"