The Ocean

The sound of footsteps
Echo down
The narrow hall
And the door
slowly squealing
Shuts
Ker-lunk

In Silence

Splashes of vision fleck
Insubstantial walls
Drifting to the pulse
Of a darkened ocean
By the will
That holds
These silken
Thoughts

In Silence

Spun lazily
Around
To feel
This space
Endlessly
Here
While all is held
By the gossamer threads
Of the watcher

The Long Slow Way to the Summit

I took the trail marked
On my Ancestors' map
Along the long slow road
That winds its way

To the summit

Now snow drifts

Silently across my feet

As the Earth  

Reaching for the Sky
Vanishes into misty heights

This journey began on summer plains
Where church spires founded
In a fog of words
Stood in mute testament
To a mountain
That pierced the clouds

I saw Quality and Richness

Bloated to Avarice

Fed on Destitution

And the sound of Poverty

Keening ever louder

Cat fights, Competition

Abounded In

Incessant activity
And everyone spoke
In Trader Talk

My Ancestors whispered

Down deep corridors of time
They counseled me onward

 When no-one would go

  To turn around 

To silent heights

Where Winter snow billows

And stirs across the path

And my footsteps

Leave no trace