Mournful sobs,
hang timelessly
on to the minute hands
of clock, spinning slowly, soundlessly.
Sees family heads bowed
looking down at a plot on the ground,
a blot over the sun. A dark cloud
leadens the day, he walks away.
Trying to find a safe space
for his soul to lay.
Meanders the dark spaces.
The veiled streets
of the other side.
Here in the afterlife,
forgotten, he walks
otherwise alone.
this pathway untrodden.
Looking for somewhere
to place his tomb.
Only the words spoken
seem follow him home.
The streets
all the same,
only now
the faces all fade,
moving people
blend in
with the grey
pouring rain.
Oblivious to the
simple spectres
of what used to be.
He floats down tear
glistening streets.
Riverways
to a lifetime of memories.
If anyone saw him,
just a mirage in the dark.
A visage of pain,
with no colour or spark.
A smeared glass view
that you can just about see through,
but as soon as you look,
the world becomes askew,
and recollection
starts to fade away from you.
Thanks for reading
Follow this link for more.
https://linktr.ee/Wordsandfluff
You can find my New books
"Tales from the 44A" and "Stations
here
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0DBKXPN13/
and here
continue to do this.
Peace, Love & Poetry
Kyle
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