Mountains
Mountains
of morning
chasing clouds,
great chasms,
of a deepening
September’ sky,
the sun blinks
behind the dawn,
watching,
waiting,
the season’s changing
beneath
her beacon eye,
and below,
far, far below,
in the town,
the hurry
of streets,
stretching,
awakening,
the blinking lights,
the first rush
of impatient traffic,
an old man
sits, sleeps,
dreams, quietly,
upon the bench,
outside the church,
the tower chiming,
time,
behind him,
hidden,
into the morning,
echoing through
the hurry
of his years,
the memory
of yesterdays,
the nudge
of remembering
moments,
still,
silent,
echoing
in the emptiness,
between the hollow
walls
and faceless
buildings
the gathering
of shadows
a faltering
of sunlight
his time,
closing
knotting slowly
into a fist
into the last
moments
of his passing
of hours.
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p1964km@googlemail.com
