Friday, March 13, 2015


When there is time to think, that is when
The day becomes soft, and grey, and fades
Into a colour of oblivion.
The small sounds, the glimpse that catches
You unawares, those are the things that
Have the greatest power to hurt and
That we cannot avoid, however
Hard we try.
And we try.
For each and every moment is another
Moment of battle, another battle in the
War that never ends, from now
Until then, whenever then may be.
Then, a destination, a place in the future
Or perhaps a shadow of yesterday,
That hovers over any one of us,
A raincloud of tears and recriminations.
The shimmering dancing wavering
Branches imprint on the water
Sunlit in waves, and tempting
The watcher to drown in unknown depths.
A wingbeat of time, a heartbeat away
From death, and calling for the
Greying of day into night.
A cool breeze that caresses with steel.

© 2ndwitch, 13/03/15

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