Some more poetry.

[astraynotion]

Just so these don't get lost completely (although that is the fact of a lot of poetry, suitably).



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The dusk
Has taken the colours
And the windowed world
Is blackwhite.
Yet the truth, bold and
Terrible
Was ever in the greys.

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Every day now, I wake four times over.
:To the chasm the falling the smoothering the grasping the choking the gasping the emptiness
-where warmth takes me back-
:To the stillstirring the restless undone and tangles, where stories begin in their middles and all is upending all over
-where warmth takes me back-
:To a weariness of startstop sleep, tired from waking, all over
-where warmth takes me back-
:To serenity. The faint breeze upon the evening.

Sanctum, inside
A warmth to carry.