untitled

delight is fleeting
and softness
too soon hardens
clay beneath
the heat of loss
the road runs constant
on and over between
fancy’s fading fields
keening streams
carry sinners’ dreams
to seas restless
as dormant dreamers
adrift in empty beds
of their own making
night is fleeting
and sorrow ever-waking
sleeping feet
travel dreaming trails
and never find
the bread crumbs
leading home

© Sarah Whiteley