Wednesday haiku madness

From seed to syllable
this poem
growing into meaning

Orange shift
over the horizon,
and the cannabis

Tuesday
Still no fish
along the coast

Bordering the house
a grey crayon,
in his stomach

First breath
Too early to be,
Long and purposeful

Stereo shapes,
The walls sing
if they could any

Not this day,
the roses bloom
and we notice

Midnight
The stars getting nearer,
the way i see it

Wisps of rain
my wounds
reminded to me

Streaks of light
clash in the sky
to the pin dropping

Tall gates at the mansion
My attitude
lets them be

The undertaker,
Not knowing how
to dress to a funeral

The blind spot
having just,
passed me by

Grey Winter day,
A shroud for the snow
Not long ago

An old mirror
in the corner
reflecting on life

Her Hazel eyes
I have prisms
that seek them

A slanting tombstone
Another opinion
caved in

Sunrise
The lopsided shadows
take birth

Approaching dusk
An old man
waits for the lights

A cloudy summers night
the moon
falls down the steps

Autumn leaves
their shades
fall first

6 pm at the station
i watch Darkness beginning
to resemble her

God's own country,
fought over
by the mortals

A hole in the sky
he can finally
look through