hiraeth: Footprints.

In a way there’s something different

A painting hangs just the same on

The wall that holds its breath and yet

It seems that the light now plays another

Symphony on the colours of the dawn.

This was never about the way that

The colours begin and end, but rather

Of the in-betweens and the twisted branches

Dripping ochre shadows and curious

Questions that have no answer.

Beneath the robust sheen of the ever

Shifting shades that never explain-

Only bask in the light handed down by

The souls of passers-by, walking the road

And their footprints just remain.


One Comment Add yours

  1. InfiniteZip says:

    This is beautiful😊👣👣


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