Stained Letters

I see a voice painted
on the wild sky, white,
Soft fluff amid a
terrible absent beauty.

Free lines call on pale
colour, following the light
stretched across worlds,
Steel to dusty concrete.

Steps to steps burrow above
mines filled with longing
thoughts and dreams,
Far beyond the closed pits.

Echoes are all that remain,
Silent, written on paper,
Folded in pockets to be
opened under the moon.

I see a voice painted
on the wild sky.

stained letters

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