The sundial misses the hour.
So, what.
Clocks lie too.
Shadows hesitate,
but hesitation
is still movement.
The woman tracing her coffee rim
isn’t lost —
she’s sketching a coastline
that might yet exist.
And the kite,
slack in the sky,
still holds colour.
Even fading,
it insists on being seen.
.
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Author:
crypticbard (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 26th, 2025 05:02
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 3
Offline)
Comments1
A poem of perceptions where time bends, and colors fade but all must be seen in one form or another. A thought provoking write my friend
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