Do stories ever stop

A small town

A home from the past

Do stories ever stop

While not sleeping any more
What kind in good worth comes
To travel beneath a mid-morning
Sun, miles to the ends on a blacktop

Most silence would cease to echo
Even for a destination when reached
But within rushes, unknowing hours slip
Before more words follow, wait

Don’t journey any further on arrival
Beyond home, just weight, wait while
Soon the Sun continues to slip, fall
Through the hours, no escape in

Reality, no escape in dreams as
Day, its light bleeds a deep dark
Blue into night’s spaces between
Trees in the backyard, as songs

To flight dwindle, their pitch fades
In a long night, one bursting with
Too many hours where sleep is
Unwelcome, but eventually

Eyes close as worlds evaporate
In the small morning hours, lost
Broken between four to the seven
Awake, though not awake, inside

A place, a place no longer existing
An emptiness devours all in the climb
Where each day it bleeds more stories
About a past now shortens in time, and

Seasons, For soon the years rattle by
In songs, but we never forget the tales
Past, and in those still living, still writing
Their stories, adventures, and mishaps

We keep travelling, not waiting, for in
Small hours, out amongst it all
Walking, running, playing in
The rain, the wind, and the dirt.

For, KE FWF.

4 responses to “Do stories ever stop

  1. Sean,

    Great poem , I enjoyed the trip as it goes through different states of mind, natural surroundings and seasons. I particularly loved these verses:

    “A place, a place no longer existing]
    An emptiness devours all in the climb]..
    Seasons, For soon the years rattle by]
    In songs”..

    The last stanza is truly powerful as it progressively evokes whilst enumerating… Those final words and images have the mnemonic value of juxtaposed meaningful experiences.

    Best wishes, Aquileana 🙂

    • Two periods shadowing one another between events (the physical), and distance (the thoughts). Yes, the experiences come together like the horizon, and Sun in the East on an autumn’s morning, surely as they do again, to set together in the West. Thank you, Aquileana. The last was written first, the rest I had to remember…

      Best, always 🙂

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