The change of Past
The evening draws on
Sealed in stillness,
Fields looking over the sea
Perpetually diving with venom
Over the dead rocks.
No cry comes from the vessels
Standing to attention.
The August landscape filled with life
Like a box filled with a wife’s love letters
from a loving husband.
The roaring clouds clear to a vibrant sun,
Rich to the eye
To behold an ancient Cornwall.
The sound of my footsteps fills the eerie silence, my footsteps
The cold wind hits me violently, the darkness masterly.
All stands still in a village of which a mere few hours ago was bustling with life,
I am alone, roaming the abandoned footpaths carrying on my
shoulders the burden of strife.
The wilderness is my home, my shadow my only friend.
My silent cries go unheard, upon myself I depend.
The misty skies they follow me every hour of every day.
Or, the question I ask myself so frequently,
Do they lead the way?