Mists of Time
Time is a human construct to think about...
Ground-beaten raindrops begin their climb.
A heavy heat lingers before pressures align.
Darkness dampens sight, a lone bird chuckles.
Storm clouds tense, edges move like knuckles.
A few rays of light attack the ground.
Something stirs but makes no sound.
A misty mirage confuses the senses.
Time gets caught inside invisible fences.
The morning dance has just begun.
More birds join in upon seeing the sun.
"No song or spokenword for this poem. I just wanted it to be raw. To focus on the vss365 prompt and the artwork. I tried to use words that would help you feel and picture a scene from a magical misty country morning, one that happens in my local area in Wales, UK almost every day. The artwork is attempting to do the same"
