The reoccuring theme of time as a vessel of its own substance.

On thoughts of creative decadence,
cast like sand on the cloud-tops, roof-tops, spinning tops
carried to heaven on the church spire, electric wire
and the car with a flat tyre
on the side of the motorway
doesn’t know its own name.
Lucky, then, that it’s written
as an imprint in the tar.

Not so for the houses that hang in space
losing roof-tiles to time
and yet, they carry their age with grace - but
hollow and losing loose thoughts
to the low-hanging clouds that close the world in –
but only to increase
the density of light.

I love it.

BUT - "Hollow and loosing loose thoughts" - is this supposed to be losing thoughts, as in you've lost them? Or loosing as in setting loose, setting free??

Nope, typo. *fixes* thankies. <3

ah, goodie.

That, and 'definately' is my most shudder-worthy mistakes.

But, poem is beautiful. Scans so sweetly when read aloud. Yes, I read it aloud. I'm that cool.

Oh awesome! It was definitely written to be spoken, I'm so glad that came across!

The gorgeous rhythmic rippling of sounds that chime throughout this poem evoke a sense of looseness in the form that reflects the gracious passing of time.

I feel an energetic voice in this. Particularly as it is acutely observant; as if the persona is absorbing all tactile senses of the atmosphere into something fluid and yet so clear. It creates a sense of artless elegance in being lifted by the wind and time it self.

It was a delight to read.