People travel towards the water.
Believers and non-believers, abandoned,
wet books with pages turning themselves,
in the hot breeze.
In times of peace, the bread chooses wisely.
It chooses us.
To hear the summer from miles away – a sudden blast.
Toxic petals float in the air and
drop vertical shades of colour
on busy roads, on silenced barracks.
We all are the collective eyewitness,
the sleep-deprived well;
knowing litter pickers, mending
the gaps in this violent history.
A poem for ‘Europa‘ by Andrew Heath https://www.amazon.co.uk/Europa-Andrew-Heath/dp/B01LYHL716
For further information on Andrew Heath’s music, please click here: https://andrewheath.bandcamp.com/