2/? Poetry 2015

Step by small step, tiny prints in the sand, The waves they creep, clearing them off the land. Your purpose is lost in the early dawn mist. You already know the pain of the lost unknown.

End

There are puppets on the walls, Shattered dolls on the ramparts. What they guard is taken, No more now than a memory. Ghosts of a dream long dreamt, In a world without sunrises.