Treading not yet trampled half lit path
down to the bracken the end of a strip
over a salted shoulder
a ripple and a rustle
the shimmer of the huts
as they turn on their lights
from day into night

Homes morph into the heavens
towering over heads
creating shadows in the mist
consumed with fright

under the moon from
the north light looms

gracefully turning grey
holding on to the day
there is time for a future

let go of the past
will mean to run and take flight
through this haze forming a night
fields without fences all around

… to be continued…

 

This poem consists of the opening stanzas to an Epic Poem, The Estate Race written by

J. Spencer © 2009-2018

Thank you for reading.

Featured image is a poem taken from the Art of Type, Nurture Games eBook.

 

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