London Poem: Day 311

24 June

This is the future,
So it’s said;
No words, just a waxing
Moon lifting between rooftops,
Settling in a quiet sky, with
The future left behind, for now.
But, it comes quickly, as it
Tends to do, washing between what
Was felt and the cherry moon –
The future becomes the past,
And the past slips through the cracks,
But, what remains is the warm rising moon.

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Published by

keelancrampsey

In flux

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