The shifting sands prolong the hours,
Of silent poignant thought,
The visions of a pale sky blur,
Cris-crossed by flooding sunlight.
My instruments are no longer of any use.
Strings have long rusted.
I hear morning's retreating footsteps,
The windows to my room, still shut.
The bird has left it's secure nest ,
A flight into uncharted horizon.
A solitary butterfly struggles to get free,
Out of the dusk, it's cocoon.
The lissome drops of cold rain ,
Fog my crystalline window pane.
Whilst the war of thunder rages on,
As swords of lightning clash against it's shield.
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