The Letter
Tears fall on the page, smudging past mistakes and spelt out feelings. The colloquial memories and paper flashbacks once merged by a pen, instead merged by my tears.
On this page I rest my hopes and now my fears. Which have appeared, bolder than before, bolder than the pen strokes they once were. Growing at great speed into an imposing inky creature, that slips through tear ducts and takes residence in doubting thoughts.
It is these thoughts that take hold, and as the creature expands and leaves it’s sooty footprints along my conscious, the thoughts spawn and I am left to struggle on.
Thursday, 18 February 2010
Senility
This poem is loosely based on my visit to my great-gran when she was a hundred years old. She died shortly after, just before her next birthday.
Senility
There is a house I know, an old withered face.
I once went inside, it was full of memory, paintings and picture adorned walls and light filtered through open windows. But now it is only dark, memories smeared by damp and rot, windows blacked out by dust.
Upstairs the once bustling bedrooms are silent, pieces of plaster peeling off walls. Further up still lies the attic, exposed by a sunken roof. Empty, apart from shattered roof-tiles and rotten beams. When it rains fast tears fall from broken gutters, and saliva drips.
It is gone now, I miss it.
Senility
There is a house I know, an old withered face.
I once went inside, it was full of memory, paintings and picture adorned walls and light filtered through open windows. But now it is only dark, memories smeared by damp and rot, windows blacked out by dust.
Upstairs the once bustling bedrooms are silent, pieces of plaster peeling off walls. Further up still lies the attic, exposed by a sunken roof. Empty, apart from shattered roof-tiles and rotten beams. When it rains fast tears fall from broken gutters, and saliva drips.
It is gone now, I miss it.
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