Please shut the gate

Looking across to Pillar coming down from Gable to Honister.

Inominate

It has shape and form -
Like feeling, it does exist
But is uncertain.

It has no name and
Cannot account for itself
So sits silently.

In sadness and shame
Not knowing what to call itself
It plunges deeper.

Lost in namelessness
It can only be itself
And holds on to that.