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