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dust
For when a man no longer feels the warm embrace from the reflection of his given love, is the dawn of an ending, no more beaten track to follow, no more spring in his heel, an emptiness inside which does echo in the hollow.
Emancipation of a soul, wrong turns at all of a few intersects, rash moves, blunt tools.
Wisdom gained but no voice to with it share.
Empty cigarette packets scattered in the room like ashes, loose change on shelves sat on old letters.
Few too many odours to label individuals, all masking together like oil in a slick.
Brush off, pull up , move on, it is done.
