Until the Day is Done

Every evening at around a quarter past 6 I take this walk...a little constitutional, if you will.

Through the cooling air, as the world shifts gear and the candyfloss clouds troop across the vanilla sky in their puffed up little flocks. Sometimes their bellies are heavy with rain, sometimes they're blushing rosy in the sun's last embrace.

When the song in my ears rolls to a stop, the wind whistles around my neck and the vast expanse above stares down...and I feel like a dwarf and a giant at the same time.

The hills of the town start to light up, eager for the night to come. The leaves and the long grass dance and laugh in the breeze and my shoulders feel the fingers of the evening starting to press into my skin.

But I don't leave; I like to stay until I've squeezed every last drop out of the day, until I've devoured every morsel hanging above me.

I like to stay until the day is done and the moon breathes again.

The Sonder

The lights on the highway flame; burning carriages ferrying souls back and forth across the tar through the darkness.

Shadows slide across the roof, slide towards me as the city's bastions keep watch over her nest.
Neon in the night winks and beckons as the wind and the wheels sigh together.

Red eyes in the distance bed farewell, they are going home.
Yellow fangs bare down on the road, carving their path through the heavy air and on toward new adventures.
The ebb and flow will not case, pumping the blood through the city's veins.

The line where land and sky collide is picked out by pinpricks and stars, etched into the never ending by the new.
The hills have eyes tonight, burning through my thoughts, reflecting fears and failures through tired windows.

I watch the sonder march below, consumed and consuming.
I hear the waves beak onto the glass.
Music seeps under the door and the sweetness pours into my ears.

Coming Down

Seeking redemption after settling for god on a plate is a cold and lonely business;
Double down on doubt, all on black for the last spin of the night.
Chase the edge, stood on a ledge beyond the talk down and hell bent on the here and now.

Less and less the thrill, more and more the empty chill,
Separate Sabbath for the frail and ill.

Your head is a dangerous place to be if you've got a head like me:
Full to the brim with weathered sin and ideals fighting the fight to not give in.

Grind and shake and bend and break and swear you'll learn amends to make...
Hold onto hope that you will.

Don't Look Behind You

Funny how sometimes you feel fine and you MEAN it when you say; "It's a very large sea and it's filled with many, many interesting and better fish." and other times a familiar hat or smell or a song can beak your heart in places you didn't know it had left to break.

Funny how that shadow hides behind you, hurling itself out of sight as you spin around, wide eyed, with the feeling that you're being followed or watched.

Funny how it climbs onto your shoulders and weighs you down, heavy even when you just felt light.

Funny how that heaviness is the one thing you can rely on.

Not that funny at all though, really.