His empty sky
Listening to the last
of summer birds call,
across the distance,
the fading rush
of the evening homeward
drive,
the hurry
of life times,
dulled in the midsummer heat,
trapped in metal
and glass,
immune from the skyline,
the sinking splendor
of a declining sun,
for here
only silence grows,
thick,
as the cicadas regular staccato,
tick and hum,
tick and hum,
the air trembles,
heavy with perfume,
a crow barks overhead,
a motorcycle grumbles
into the last dusk
of evening darkness,
a last blackbird,
fusses in the hedges,
for tonight’s the night,
the last
of his days,
there’s laughter
from the neighbours,
glasses empty
and refilled,
the smoke and tease
of barbecue,
fills the heady air,
stories told,
egos lost,
and found,
and found again,
misfortunes
and successes mingle
in the afterglow
an afterglow
that suffuses the rim
of the forests,
steeped in heat
and silence,
a distant plane arrows
across the naked sky,
a great scratch
of orange
upon the last eternal,
the enamel
of blue,
the conversation,
like waves,
lulled into bells
and silence,
a distant church
chimes the last,
the lengthening hour,
and then a cry,
a shriek,
a dropping
of glasses,
a silence rushes,
thickly into the gap
of disbelief,
one moment to the next:
all is sudden,
shattered
and still.
A body has slipped
from life,
still and warm
to the stone hard
heat and floor.
and above,
just a glimpse,
a crease,
a hint
upon the highest line
of hills,
the moon lifts blindly,
an eye upturned,
to the first stars
of an empty sky.
Feel free to contact me. Be nice to know who my audience is and perhaps you can suggest some further topics or themes for my writing! And do give me feedback!
p1964km@googlemail.com
