White and black that fades to grey inside.
White faces, spiked with gold
and silver rose but grey as steel.
skipping over black lines
of shapes hardly made
when finishing is the only aim.
Colour is for dreaming
and no dreams enter this space.
Dreaming would bring pain perhaps
so lets not entertain it.
They walk in droves alone,
a herd of one and one and one
and so on.
But only ever one alone.
Wildebeest of this terrain,
one falls, the rest march on.
© Dave Kavanagh @ daithiocaomanaigh.com