Nocturnal winds

Yelling in rusted pain,
It screeches across this darkened land,
Pushed back and forth by nights invisible hand,
For decades hung in the elements harsh and unforgiving, Decaying from its creation,
In heat forged solidity,
By mans sweat and tears,
But only to its end,
Broken down to flakes of brittle brown,
By natures unyielding but gentle hand,
Fluidity lost in immobility of crumbling fragmentation, Telling its story,
To be lost through the slumbering land,
On nocturnal winds,
Forlorn and forgotten in the temperate sunrise of a fresh spring day, Sitting still and silent,
Unnoticed as passers by ignore, To stay there until the earth,
Takes back once more to its self this ore,
With its delusions of grandeur,
And self importance,
Showing mankind,
Nothing lasts forever,
Not even us.

African Blackwood bottle stoppers. More on Bespoke Woods Facebook page

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