Sunday, 27 January 2019
"All in time," said a whispering wind, as it
passed me by on a length of
gold string, floating, beyond a morning's slow rise...
"...all at the twist and the turn
of a tide, where the demons will fear to go."
Hot sunlight through glass
cast an exquisite glow, on the cobwebs
where they tangled,
as flies, and they could not follow,
and all at once, I saw tomorrow in the mirror
of eyes, and sweet tinges of rust,
and all the stars gathered
amongst white, swirling dust, to etch with a finger,
and the touch of a hand
was surely enough, to send me crashing
to my childhood's knees;
I was covered in ivy-shade
and honeybees, as I wiped away a world
I had known: I surrender all the days of a life untold,
to most, but the cherished, unknown,
and standing in the safest of circles,
right or wrong, I am home.