My grandfather took a step upon eighty year old feet. He winced. I imagined a life propelled, gnarled and burdened by a flock of memories. And yet I am certain of the durable terror of infinity. While the sky brightens as an endless cloth, the graveyard train rumbles down a rusted hill and stops inside a hole. Claustrophobia settles in and all turns into coal. Something breaks into shards.
But the mythic firmament is forever burdened In its endless routine; it has listed onto its side. Adolescent sentiency catches a long stare and takes it all in stride. The eyes of the old sky have become disheartened. The apocalypse will not be drastic or instant. It is a weathering effect
This poem was included in a musical composition written by my brother. You can check it out if you like at his soundcloud https://soundcloud.com/mrutssamoht. The song is also called Feet.