A letter home

A letter home. pic

 

time passing

opaque

like a shroud

we can see it move

it shimmers with

an echo of our transgressions

precious but not forgiving

and without the generosity of a smile

 

I am trapped by nostalgia

the faded warmth of remembered thoughts

where-in the past has forgotten

the marching band of

acolytes goose-stepping forward

and left in a mould marked melancholy

where future movement

has lost its traction

and left me smooth

as a tiny beach stone

eyeing the braying tide

Longing

Chess Mates. I have this sense of impending doom.

 

day by day

the long column

of little steps

ascends, as if

 

no greater power could command

nor small urge arrest

the strident pattern

of controlled desire

 

while sleep conceals

the gnawing pang

daylight reveals the currents

that play with a pain

 

no two thoughts can unwind

without a third that questions

sweet reason

with a sneer

 

and so we live in danger

here and now

and cite past treason

to re-affirm weakness, as if

 

derision was the message

on a welcome mat

as we attempt

to douse the fire

 

and put quiet to bed

the questions

that linger in the threads

and fabric of scented pillows

 

 

so,  sleep well with demons

children please

your softly moulded bodies lay limp

without due diligence

 

as those dreams fade

mutate

and pass into a troubled, yet

forgotten history

I sometimes grieve

Dolls on offer

 

I sometimes grieve

for my place sewn into history

sensing the loss

the uselessness of my contribution

so far

how my past is a honeycomb of spaces

and yawning faces

the time left behind fallow

as in a forgotten field

bordered by vigorous weeds

their colours livid and clinging to

footpaths and bridleways whose intimations go unheeded

and now, NOW

the road is lost

though I know you share it with me

because the ache inside

can’t all be mine