Monochrome

Grey sky races overhead,

the wind blows across the troubled clouds

to the barren hill

where I stand upon.

It weaves

between my folded hands

and I get lost in the waves of thickened grey

where distance has unfurled its wings

As every shadow whispers your name

We soar apart,

whither the wind blows the silence further afield

Yet I see you still

when the lightning flashes across my sky,

you breathe the roaring storm

that once raced through my aching spine,

and swirled ’round my splintered rib.

I feel you still, clinging on by your fingertips.

Pic: ©Laura Makabresku