Fluid contours
Surrounding the old tree outside
the window. Filled with
colours of a forgotten past
vivid, exuberant
Drifting into the bleak bitter present. Sepia toned and alone
a cloud floats by the rugged
shore of the shattered sky.
A Giant looks from his
home towards the blackness
below his taterred brick tower
wondering what has happened that
would leave him in such a
desperate land. No Fear in his heart
just an inescapable loneliness forcing its
way into every thought and memory
He has.
Melting windows and landscape
from millions of miles away drip,
down the ethereal skies and land
on His garden crushing the only
thing he cherished. Growing there
were his flowers and plants
medicinal in nature and cultivated
for the good of mankind. Irreplaceable
no way to regain what has been
lost he sighs and leaves for
eternal Slumber hoping to regain
composure and perhaps love from
his forgotten tribe.
The last of the giants has left us.