The beach stones are thousand-year smooth, grey light grey when the clouds clear the moon, black as the night when the misting returns. The sky-black sea crashes foam white at its border. If there are voices, they are distant, both in place and time.
dark night, dark dreams swirling
eyes flicker, will they open?
blue bruised sky slowly lightens
Milk-white light spills through the crescent slit in sky
Trees cast broken spider web shadows
I look at my phone as you tell me with you the sun is shining
The earth has spun you away
Night draws in its ice-chill velvet curtains
Frayed clouds worn patchwork beyond the trees
If you ever think of me, please say my name
Through the forest in the night blackness they crept in single file. “Turn that torch off!” he shouted, then saw the light was shining from the other man’s eyes.
pale moon, stars, chalk clouds
snow on the distant mountains
night waiting, or night, waiting
The shortest day beckons sunlight.
The darkest night is before the dawn.
The path ahead may be through the shadows
but even this will pass.
The longest day brings an abundance of light.
Banishes all darkness & shadows.
At night, short & sweet:
Dreams of colour, splintered light.
The darkness behind the mirror leaves us with the shortest night.
And hope slow burns.
Honoured to share a page with Karina Brink @KarinaMSzczurek
There is nobody there I know
You are not there I know
But in the darkness I see your face
and reach for you
Inside my chest I feel your warmth
and reach for you
I reach for you
I’ve been waiting all night and now it’s five in the afternoon and the sun is forgetting its place in the sky. Tonight again then. Again.
Nothing, but nothing, is written in the stars. Except the words I felt when you held my hand and the stars fell towards the sea.