Poem #3- Voice

It keeps on moving forward.

Sometimes through light, sometimes through darkness.

Sometimes it smells like shit, and sometimes it’s comfortable. A feeling

Of floating above

The ground which rolls beneath us

Like the great harem of thunder breaking

From vicious clouds above;

Masses of grey tumbling waves

Which scatter the vitality that we need.

And it keeps on rolling, tumbling, floating

From day to day

To month to year.

A flash of a moment sitting in the sun’s beams,

In a pub or a car perhaps,

Where everything is in motion and noise reigns, but it is silent all at once.

A singularity, broken instantly

By flow, motion and thrust,

Into the next one, yes this memory persists

And that is where living truly lies.

24th September 2023