Sounds tumble relentless, careless,
Linking hands, shadow shapes against a wall,
Form patterns through a casual sky,
And fall towards my ear.
They twist and vine-like creep,
Take hold within my mind,
As each implores with desperate voice,
A sense of purpose not implied.
With mean intent they rattle through,
Past use and memory,
Clinging fast to definition,
Whilst falling, failing, short of meaning.
With fading mist a clarity,
Reveals itself, masks trickery,
As once again the things you feel,
Lie disparate, disappointed, let down by words.