Saturday, November 16, 2013

the Wind

The muse knows I can see death

The key in my pocket gathers rust 
As I scratch a nail along its edges
In passing I note the time
And the colour of  a little girls shoes
Not that this changes much
But the wind
 
In elongated stretches my mind wanders
A staccato of stilettos changes not of my thought
But yet a passing swallow eager for food does
I am bemused for yet a second 
And wander back to my musings
But the wind
 
A simple lad was that passerby
Interrupting me a simple tune I did whistle
I watch as his soul leaves confused as to why
Was it a rusted key or yet another artefact 
I drink in the black and lick 
But the wind
 
A crowd gathers in dust and watches silently
Except one, a little girl, yes the one with the coloured shoes
“Mummy” she says while pointing at the shadows
Mother clasps a plump hand across the child mouth smothering
Drowning in the crowds silence tomorrow moves closer
But the wind
 
Yes 
The wind 

© 2013 Adrian AIDZ Giannini
 
 
 

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