…is now a colour

We are weary travellers now trudging ever forward
with the heavy weight of fading expectations
bearing down upon our souls
out of the vast voids of vanishing voices and vanquished dreams
a veil descends upon the empty fields of our desolation
adrift in the endless circling of cold liquid skies
and the forlorn cries of distant, sorrowful birds
we are weightless and lost in a web of shadows
we took the light for granted we did not feel the currents shift
we did not anticipate the rift and now all is lost
the branches are bare and hollow
is now a colour that is painted everywhere
in the aftermath, all that remains, endless cycles of pain
trying to hold against the ebb, whispering quiet prayers
as the sea claims sovereignty
and we know that it is over, that all is lost
our hearts beat in time with the distant drums of our destruction
the sky is burning red and the wind carries the weeping
of the motherless, of the fatherless, of the childless
of the homeless and the hopeless
the circling skies and the forlorn cries of the distant birds
now carry the lost souls, for whom no-one grieves
gently taking them home into the aching seas of eternity
© Ann Bagnall