Darkening Skies


We will not be forgotten as a dying dream;
Our names will be carried on the wind:
The wind that brings a glow from below the ashes,
Transforming deathly grey to living red,
That carries seeds of freedom and of truth
And plants them where they flourish;
The scorching wind that burns and turns to dust,
The silent wind that sweeps the wide sky clean.
Borne aloft, carried high.
Invisible streams of air that cool and freshen,
Rippling currents running through the ether,
Engines roaring through darkening skies,
That hint of majesty and mystery
And strength far mightier than ours to know.
Our names are blowing in the wind;
We will not be forgotten as a dying dream.


© Alastair Stout 2017