West fall sea

The thin line
between
sea and sky
is grey,
and the rot of humanity
lays before me
in the colourless sand
and behind me
in the lifeless city.

The surge I found
in the void
pulses more,
but like the liquid
inside a
sewn, infected wound,
today
the filth can only
slowly ooze
instead of dripping
quickly.

The air is warmer,
but the winter winds
find me here as well,
and I can do nothing
but walk a little more,
towards the sun.

We must keep in mind
that the slow death of fall
into the slumber of winter
is the only possible prologue
for the rebirth
of the light.



[Albenga, 23/10/2015]