Hush, now it is morning for spirits,
Epochal memories in tapestry with,
Sudden enticing underlayers conducted,
In spillages of drifting weft,
Resurrected in half-way houses,
Bereft in a passion for once being,
Now in part of a larger mystery,
Breaking waves upon war-tents,
Fluttering banners flickering flames,
Could they even see each other passing,
By the distant moonlight and rabble,
Of children playing ball games,
Just before the present moment,
When this phantasmagoric wind licks,
Tingles in between fingers,
Where sand particles cling momentarily,
Like gripping wishes refusing to be released,
However movement will never stand still.
Rowan Blair Colver
Epochal memories in tapestry with,
Sudden enticing underlayers conducted,
In spillages of drifting weft,
Resurrected in half-way houses,
Bereft in a passion for once being,
Now in part of a larger mystery,
Breaking waves upon war-tents,
Fluttering banners flickering flames,
Could they even see each other passing,
By the distant moonlight and rabble,
Of children playing ball games,
Just before the present moment,
When this phantasmagoric wind licks,
Tingles in between fingers,
Where sand particles cling momentarily,
Like gripping wishes refusing to be released,
However movement will never stand still.
Rowan Blair Colver
