Poetry (words)


The path seems to trickle endlessly on, or at least it’s end is out of sight. I’ve never followed it completely. The rain is making the view it’s own today, but it still holds beauty in my memory. There are hollows here, burrows of time safe from the salt air. I’ve seen these cliff tops in spring, alive with nature, but resting now. I came here to dream, to think and the slate grey conditions are like a blank page. How different the ocean smells to the harbour, like all the seasons filling the senses at once. A place to shed sadness like a graveyard of thoughts. To lay to rest hostility and forget. 

Dreams hit the sodden ground like anvils too heavy to carry for the distance. The homeward journey will be a lighter one. The sense of loss has long passed and those feelings barely matter now in this reality. 


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