The feet.

Little feet, crawling

Mouth, the only reception

Eyes watching, witnessing lies

Ears listening cries

Little feet learn

For they let them.

Not so little feet, escaping

Hiding in the dark

Too much light, too real a reality

Succumbing to their way

Not so little feet walk over

Pulling down anything between their path

Not so little feet have learnt

For they let them.

The old feet, at rest

No zeal, no time, no place to run

Old feet, make patters in the dust

Old eyes look, introspect

Of wasted miles, of wasted suns

Old eyes shut, they won’t open

The old feet unlearn

And they let them.

The old woman, the old man.

Held his petite fingers

They kissed his forehead

Filmed him take his first ever steps

At around their knees he would prance

Pulling on grandma’s hair

With grandpa’s glasses he would play along

‘Ride me on your back grandpa'

And the old man would kneel

'Sing me a sleep song granny'

And her breaking voice sung melodies

Today it’s his twelfth birthday

All his friends are home

The old man, the old lady though would sit alone

In a place un-cherished and unknown

Holding on to a knitted sweater

With the grandson’s name sewed in blue

She wipes a silent tear

Trickling down grandpa’s cheek

Holding his arm, just being there

Looking at the broken wooden door

In a rickety old harbour for aged

They wait for their son to pick them up

For the place which was once their home

Winter, the only season their life understands

Whilst they sit and wait to transcend

To a world where there is no place

To a world with no time

Where they can watch down from the skies

Their grandson singing the rhymes

They once sung to him

Before the transient nature of time

Turned the ones they raised

Forgetful and unkind

Winter

Warm feet,

arms, hands, those wanderers 

Breath, collide

A face, beautiful, seductive

Moist lips, skin radiating, pristine white

hair, darker than the night

A blanket covering the uncovered

darkness overwhelmed senses

lights needed no more.

Winter, stay.

Cold feet, a pair

arms rolled, a pair

No collision of breath

A face as cold as ice

melting into the crimson fire of pain

Cracked lip, raw skin

Upon an abandoned body

a blanket covering the uncovered, still

darkness overwhelming the senses, still

lights needed no more, still.

Winter, stayed.