The Last Day

Sunlight filters through clouds
The eastern window watches
You blink away the morning dew
Heavy with night

The southern window glares
Beckoning the fall come closer
Near now, fast rushing down
Knotted rope runs through Your hands

Smoke billowing out
The coughing western window
You breathe deeply
A charred lattice of ash for carpet

The last spear of light
Never touches the northern window
You hear the stream waiting
You dive into its longing rivulets

It is time

— for Him Who knows about facing fate on His own terms


About Myriad

Myriad Hallaug Lokadís
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