Spectral Who are the shadows of grey
that sift in and out of the pillars of grey in clouds of cold and loneliness? Why is there hardness in their eyes and hatred in their voices?
They move so gloomily, they talk so forcedly, they love so selfishly.
Stars no longer thrill the heart, nor moon provokes a lover’s song. The bird of loudest lay is still and we, but a distant memory in the torn mind of a tired god.
Collars are pulled up on rainswept streets and cars hiss fast through the night and on into the day and on into the night as bells ring, cogs turn and machines grind out a theme all grating and steely-cold in progression.
Grey shadows among grey pillars, they mutter dirges of depression and suppression. So the wasteland grows
and spectres show themselves at every turn.
Of course, we don't have let them through! We are all poets, we all have the power. The word is love.
Thanks for reading and have a good week. S Email ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to Facebook
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