Monday, 9 August 2010


If the night is awash with the colours
Splashed inside a child’s pencil case
Then the day is made to resolve the mess
And undress the images discovered there;
Stripping off the tracks and marks
Carpeting the sulphur background
Whilst peeling leaves of purple swirls
From trees of green barked randomness;
Chasing curls of blue and red that
Thread through spokes of orange wheels,
Whose axles attach to traction engines set
Beneath a carriage ride into the box’s corners.

Morning mist lifts from a sky board
Of the blackest slate scraped free of dust,
Revealing depths of colour left over from the
Palette that alighted after stars lost heart to live,
Giving the play beneath a stage to
Lay footsteps on and wander far beyond;
Placing sheaths of matter on the patina of
Planet Earth and planting strands of worthiness;
Pursued by every shade of breath that
Wrests itself from every chest of industry;
Holding you to infinity’s long promised ride as
You glide into the sunset of an ever changing world.

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