The Writing
On the Wall.
Your picture is a fixture
the artistry in shards
The meaning is allegorical.
Your place is a house of cards.
You’re a metaphoric morning.
By midday, you’ll run away.
By evening you merge to shadows.
You disappear and arrive by day.
Figuratively speaking, I know little about you.
Your emblematic guise puts my head into a spin.
I don’t know if you’re tangible or ephemeral.
Or a fleeting feeling I have deep within.
I try to read the writing on the wall.
Of destinies and ideas
I walk through the desert and the forest.
And when the rain fell, I listened to your tears.
When the wind blew, it aroused my curiosity.
It whistled, moaned, and edged under my door.
It brought fresh news of your proximity.
And whispered, do you want to find me anymore.
I followed you into the mists of tomorrow.
With no expectations, only blind anticipation
I felt my way through mazes of no meaning.
And finally arrived at a place called destination.
The venue you sent me was representative.
Of places and faces that I knew from before
I picked up the curled photograph in the corner.
A yellowed image of a half-opened stable door.
Metaphorically speaking, the horse has bolted.
And the only evidence was there in my hand.
An allegorical though symbolic photographic image
Of hoof and footprints left in the melting sand.
©
David Rudder
2024
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