Updated: Apr 28, 2021
Dust on an old deck chair. A swift brush of palm to make way for a shag of wiry hair. A sigh, breathe deeply. This day is nearly done, sunshine and blues sky shuffle off meekly.
Dust rises with each passage. Scribbled thoughts ravage. Muddled words written in ink. Haggard, amongst fragments of old, I sink.
Dust rises flickering in specks of sunlight. Ageing senses excite. Their are days. Hard days. Days of solitude. Days when you find yourself all alone not knowing what to do.
Dust. Water trickles over sands of white. A magpie crows in the distance, a bellow of delight. It's cries echo on the cool still air. I sit silently waiting, dishevelled without a care.
Dust rises across a sky lathered in colour. A sunflower blossoms, its path will follow. The sun is settling to meet the night. The man in the moon watching the day slowly retreat from sight.
Dust carries a hint of lavender. Tickling fancies, a coy defender. Flowers not in bloom. Lingering clean sheets catch the air and drift into my room. Petals scented of demure. Momentarily captive to its dulce (sweet) allure.
Dust swirls. Thoughts hurl. A life skipping too briskly beyond my reach. A life not cherished, moments beseeched. Time does not pass. It carries us on its wings gently holding us.
Dust dances in the sunlight. Mind mulling over pointless spite. A forbidden folly. Reputation to sully. An undiscovered yearning. An interplay of worlds not explored, left burning.
Dust rushes by in an eager gale. Fluttering birds set sail. The magpie crows once again. Streetlight flickers on cobbled lane.
Thoughts shift to things closer at hand. A reminder to let old things land.
Dust lingers on this moment, pondering the tingle of my hairs. Cool breeze passes to a tune of who cares. A shrill cry calls my attention away. A fickle point with no importance, stops to question the point of this day.
Dust settles etching a glass rim. A pettle falls as roses wilt from fragile limb. The yellow pips of a bottle brush leave an empty pod. A bud bare, dwindling life as stems decay and rot.
Dust reminds me of times gone by. Sitting quietly by my side. The man in the moon creeps a little further into the sky. Sand grates my eyes, like the thoughts of those forgotten times.
Dust rests succumbing to night. A cold chill rises over dark clouds and speckled light. Prickly legs give rise to discomfort. My time of pondering a moment to confront. Time to rise and take this wiery old body inside. Horizons burn as day and night collide.
Dust lays down in a cloud of dissolution. A twisted disposition. Withering soul slumps on a bed of lavender scented sheets. A wiery conscience does not sleep. Eyes wide open, a haze on my mind. What bounty of dreams shall haunt this night?
Here I lay amongst trappings gathered. A hoarders heart filled with nothing that mattered. My minds fog dissapates and slumber slowly takes its place. Surrounded now in things that rust, wrapped up in a world of dust.