writing – Page 2 – The Light is On

Grassland

If you look closely enough the windows come alive with lights burned out long ago...

The same sky over grey seas watched the crossing, the slow voyage...

The past is a fever dream, washing ashore with driftwood...

Too much is barren or wilderness to know what shadows lie between...

My grip tightens on every passing thought— squeezing them, waiting for meaning to pour out...

There was no bullet through the night...

Carried by a single breath across the sky...

Dragged through shards of himself by a withered hand of glory...

That voice of woodland shadow was laden with imagined death...

gather in the valley between night and day...

Rain falls soundless on withered fields...

The wall stands against malice in the west...

Falling stars give light to this city...

Night fell and left behind the scent of chaos...

Sipping from a glass of daylight I scooped out of the time passing by. Waiting for nothing to happen and eager for it...