The Rim
Cycling through
the last dawn
of August,
the hidden shadows,
the empty fields
and ripples
of silence,
beneath the wings
of migrating skies,
the whispers
of summer
in the last stands
of high standing corn,
the smudges
of light,
across the bands
of grey,
above the forest edges,
it’s quiet,
so quiet
and still,
I imagine
so I am alone,
in a world
of the emptiness
of echoes,
the passing
of memories,
in the trembling hands
of trees,
forgetful
and forgotten,
slipping beyond the rim
of daylight,
deeper into the morning
deeper,
into the stubble
of fields,
deeper,
into the roots and earth,
the closing dreams
of another winter,
the hibernation
in the turning lamp
of seasons.
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
