London Poem: Day 233

7 April

The way it folds over the horizon,
Catching tiny pieces of sky,
Before it disappears, in its
Wide fingered clutch –
This is empty space,
And beyond urging us on.
The moody sound of life
Ignored the sweet sounds,
As the vast stretch is
Always changing but,
It never looks any different.
The prospect of change in
The great absence sings
Intricacies that wraps the
Heart so tight that it can
Never see the stillness.


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