Monday, 18 March 2013

Fallen




            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.



            bobby stevenson 2013

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