Monday, 25 May 2009

POETRY - Moult.

The sunrises and sets
casting days like moulting fur,
catching, choking, clogging,
Creating a trail
A tale of changes beyond control.
Moonlight and bright eyes,
your voice once a loving whisper
becomes a soft word,
a logical sentence,
then a distant shout
falling slowly to a whisper again.
Now not loving but lost.
Swept away with the discarded dates
and forgotten moments
that now carpet every
tentative step forward.

p.davidson 25/05/09

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