In this moving piece, the poet creates a vivid impression of their experience with an excruciating, anxious, "Ceaseless wait". Strong images and inventive words characterise this poem and its focus on the time between.
I walk the streets that were once familiar with your footsteps,
Now it veneers itself in your favourite colour.
Winds gush through, whispering your adventures,
Subtly louder than the hustle present.
It bequeaths your memories, with a heaving heart
With you not there to witness its glory, it has adored, in your absence.
Time boils the ocean, and yet not march into acceptance.
The huddle hangs on to its last few shreds of air that once caressed your face,
Hidden away in the rifts of the walls, guarding with all its might
Dissapointment etches, as it groans in vain, staring at the grey skies