imagine a weathered stone
set in its years
exposed above the wet to the haggard breeze
for a lone walker of the stars
filling the street
with the clatter of feet
the weathering is a sound to rustle the ragged trees
his is not a lost composure
nor is it found nestled beneath his seat
it merely scurries
beneath red rock and peeling paint
beneath the conundrum of stamping feet
his is a steadfast grip on this moving earth
through the scurry of the herded flock
his composure claims him the world's newest saint
his demeanour draws him back once again
-------------------------
most of this was written at 4am after coming home blazed out of my mind
set in its years
exposed above the wet to the haggard breeze
for a lone walker of the stars
filling the street
with the clatter of feet
the weathering is a sound to rustle the ragged trees
his is not a lost composure
nor is it found nestled beneath his seat
it merely scurries
beneath red rock and peeling paint
beneath the conundrum of stamping feet
his is a steadfast grip on this moving earth
through the scurry of the herded flock
his composure claims him the world's newest saint
his demeanour draws him back once again
-------------------------
most of this was written at 4am after coming home blazed out of my mind