Fettered
Forlorn
hands full of dust,
lightly held..
an open yawning
space..out
toward the horizon...
seemingly destitute
frail..
what fate awaited,
what precise sheer
unseen...
to descend..or no?
still shaken,
as a shadow at rest..
..he fell..
into the arms of sleep
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2017
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