|picture source: https://za.pinterest.com/pin/375909900128773567/|
Today passed by a few moons ago, and November is flagged along the way,
shades of black, blue and white reflect neatly alongside the other
whilst feet touch the ground before eyes have even opened.
Alongside which, magic is reality, impossible only what words have not yet been written
and spirits dance through skies, tugging clouds into whips of images,
so transient they are clouded from blinkered eyes, and I am locked in this separateness.
Muscles burn from stagnation,
breath shallow from holding my tongue,
hollow my spirit seems to your distinction,
but my soul’s only alive when the world deems it best to sleep.