Skies turn treacle
almost like they were playing
a huge joke on us
instead of blue
across the flames,
across the flames,
Weaving a laugh
ghost like across the dockyards
across the tram tracks
graced with melancholy
graced with melancholy
instead of a playful wind
Painting pictures across
the slow journey home
half sticking in the water
Taking us back to where
it all came from.
it all came from.
Truly when the skies meet the water level of the horizon, all the Universe becomes one. And we travel through time through pen and mind
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