Devil's Footprints

Silver legends
drip down walls,
memories,
once pristine,
dissolve into ash white air.
Everyday shatters
the instant it finishes.
We cannot revive the
heart of a passing day,
or resurrect...
what was once living.

Whilst we bleed our lives away,
time moves on.
Our fingertips trail across paper
trying to raise carbon black silhouettes.
In the end,
one question remains;
are we shadows
or are we the figures
casting them?
Our souls tight-rope across spikes
running down our brains
like the devil's foot-prints.