The road was long and dark,
headlights beamed.
In Devonshire twilight,
a haze settled upon the trees.
Purple-hued,
like an explosion of veins,
or the scene of bewitching,
I looked upon this shroud
as tyres crunched softly on tarmac.
The stars were out to play,
and the early Sun
bedevilled a lake
with morning steam;
dew hung heavy like willow boughs,
rippling with ephemeral tension;
a scene so lonely, and yet so beautiful,
struck my young self with fear and awe:
somewhere out there
lurked something very beautiful,
very dark, very dangerous,
and very innocent.
As the world was breaking into blossom,
and folding back in decay,
and making collective winks and yawns,
cords of sleep pulled at my eyes.
No comments:
Post a Comment