Thursday, 9 February 2012

Fallen By Bobby Stevenson

I traced the moving shadows
With my finger
As the sun gently passed
Across the sky
Bleaching the floor

Nothing in the room
Except for the smell of my cigarette
And dancing in the dust
A small white feather’s
Bid for freedom -
One from my own wings

And then I heard it,
Not clear at first
The rumble of distant thunder
And it was then and only then
That I knew -
I had finally fallen from Grace 
With you


  1. Just beautiful. I love the words you used, and a very stunning picture too.

  2. Also enjoyed this very much.

    1. Much appreciated David - it was the result of 3am musings this morning.
      I'm glad you enjoyed it pal. Cheers.

  3. Gorgeous Bobby. Could you put this to music? - I think I'd rather like to hear you sing it. And it's ages since I heard you sing...