Corral

Corral scraped my foot and cut me with its grey surface of dead colour, pinks and tangerines once there are matted with a lifeless hue of granite, graphite. Hues of blues and turquoise dancing waters ripples over faded gold and gone now into darkened depths are the stories that these creatures told. Pitted like the surface of the moon, craters rutted raped of grace, and any thread of life there was which scattered tangents of arcing light and sparkled glory to my sight has dulled through touch and tourists treading there. Crimson slices on soles now bare the mark of death that once was life.