A composition of words.

As the clock ticks
The hours lead him further away
Further and further away from his thoughts
His thoughts like silent strangers
Silent strangers writing on water
Writing on water washes out with the tide
With the tide rising
Mentally his thoughts wash out to sea
Out to sea where the sun and moon shimmer
On the horizon
On the horizon rogue poems surrender themselves
When this occurs, you realise why birds desire to fly.
(c) Chris Black. Februrary 2018.