, , , , ,

One thousand miles

One last roll

Wounded heart.

One final word

Lonely sound

Falling slow.

With tongues wrapped round the distances

Faces floating in the clouds,

We lick ourselves our wounds to heal

Turn our faces to the wind.

One frozen hour

One more lost

Broken time.

A hundred years

Shattered days

Nothing new.

With hope wrapped up and gift-tag tied

Boxed beneath a fallen tree,

We sit expectant like a child

Turn our faces from the dark.

One thousand miles

One more run

Gone to ground.

A thousand lies

Hand in hand

Come undone.


© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2019