Hiraeth

A single word hangs, shimmering, in the late afternoon light.
A note, sung softly, chimes like a bell calling the faithful
To worship and revere a god that lives between dry pages.
A dust mote dances, and invites the watcher to join it in
A reel to the music of time.
And all the time, there is no time, but there is all time,
And time is measured by breaths, longer for the ones
Not taken, and the soft sigh of the falling dusk echoes
Across the faded gilt of the sunset's dregs.
No waves can carry back to the shore the hopes
That were cast overboard, no swift flowing tide can
Recapture the dreams that spun and wove a
Delicate web of promise.
Only the land is eternal, and yet it is not,
Only the seas can hold the tears that are cried
And yet they cannot, for all that is infinite is
Truly finite, and is held in the palm of my hand.

(c) 2ndwitch, 28/10/16