Inocence

Inocence

Wednesday, 30 April 2008

Half Past Three

HALF PAST THREE

Like the last strand of soft down
You are never coming back.

The shift of whispering time
Leaving memories on the sandy

Banks of our days. Each droplet
Represents a tear, every time

It rains, you’ll remember her
Running into the garden snatching

Clothes from the line, cursing
The gods for their poor timing.

The sun refuses to settle today
It has no time for pity- yet all

That is thought, is the way you’d
Smile at weary mothers in parks,

Or how you gritted your teeth,
And broke into sweat, when grating

Cheese. The dog whimpers most nights
Belly up, beside the unlit fireplace

Aware of your lack of presence
Unsure of where you have gone

So my brother I say to you-
At least you have the memories.
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An Explanantion



From an early age I have battled with the shadow of death which lurked beneath my bed waiting, waiting for that moment when, fragile, and full of childhood anxiety I would allow a momentary thought of loss to flicker through my mind.
The speeding rocket that is fear would flood me with bed wetting thoughts, till paralysed my mother would scoop me up placing me with loving concern between the warm pillow of my sleeping father..... Since then i have penned, in frenzied bouts poems of loss, fragility and those basic instincts of man.
This site is not purely of melachonic verse, as even in the most darkest of rooms a little light will always, no matter what, seep through.