Compaction

 

 

Blurred years roll in and out of mind.
Old stones thrown to ripple stilled lakes
show, how supple experience can be.
Pleats in the cloth were absurdities. 
Revealed, in retrospect, as feet
firming the sand of our foundation.

Now we stand on stone, solid
as Stockport’s viaduct on hay.
The river flows below us, as we watch
guttering lanterns float away,
and trains cross to other stations
knowing, that here is where we’ll stay.

◄ Asylum Song.

Valentine 2014 (number 25) ►

Comments

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Neil Fawcett

Fri 9th Sep 2016 21:44

Cheers mate. Just read this three years on.

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Neil Fawcett

Fri 9th Sep 2016 21:43

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Neil Fawcett

Mon 23rd Dec 2013 19:51

Cheers Andy and Merry Xmas.

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Andy N

Mon 23rd Dec 2013 12:34

lot of detail here, neil in such a short piece. feels like not a word is wasted.

excellent. best piece i've read on here in a while.

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