When the stars
have faded like
tired candles
and the morning
is painted in a
splash of grey
we will hold each
others hand like
lonely orphans
and in the mist of
every hour we will
grow older
and we will know
when the moon
covers its face
it has seen too much
when the ocean is
sleeping like a field
of a million stars
these walls call me
a stranger
when the wild flowers
are trembling
and the old buildings
are tired of standing
when the morning
makes a fist
destroying all things
delicate
these walls call
me a stranger
when the clouds
undress the moon
and the trees stand
naked in the subtle light
when the thin white
curtains dance
these walls call me a
stranger …
Clay.M