north africa (Remove filter)
The Song Of The Wandering
In darkness deeper than the mine
where, once, I scraped my fingers to the bone
a silver seam of moonlight
breaks across the boiling blackness
and I let those self same fingers
idly trail in the cold Mediterranean.
I dream of the golden sunlight
left behind in the dust, distress and bullets.
That was then and this is now.
The churning sea, the angry orders
Wednesday 13th May 2015 6:47 pm