by Antcliff » Thu Jun 28, 2012 7:23 pm
rolls in, hangs over the heather,
and on these evenings
our landscape feels like an aftermath,
no victors of the battle,
everything waiting for the corbies,
to pick the eyes;
it is meaningless, it is beautiful –
and we must hold these
two thoughts, together somehow.
Perhaps, like the land and water,
they can only seem to fit,
but the mist says otherwise.
v1
rolls in, hangs over the heather,
and on these evenings
our landscape feels like an aftermath,
no victors of the battle,
everything waiting for the rooks,
to pick the eyes;
it is meaningless, it is beautiful –
and we must hold these
two thoughts together somehow.
Like the land and water,
perhaps they only seem to fit,
the mist saying otherwise.
v1
rolls in, hangs over the heather,
and on these evenings
our landscape feels like an aftermath
no victors of the battle,
no birds, as yet,
everything waiting for the hoodies,
to pick the eyes;
it is meaningless, it is beautiful –
and we must hold these
two thoughts together somehow.
Like the land and water,
perhaps they only seem to fit,
the mist saying otherwise.
Last edited by
Antcliff on Thu Jul 05, 2012 9:38 am, edited 15 times in total.
We fray into the future, rarely wrought
Save in the tapestries of afterthought.
Richard Wilbur