Wednesday, 12 September 2012

When Miracles Rust

One morning we woke to the sound of silent screams
I looked out from the old corner window and the land seemed to be as it had always been
As the winds whipped up the blue white seahorses on the waves, you and I held each other and cried.
They had rusted and crumbled in the dampness of our disbelief
There were no longer miracles  – all of them spent
And left in their shadows, a craving and an emptiness that would last an eternity.

bobby stevenson 2012

No comments:

Post a Comment