Posted on October 11, 2015


Rubble courtesy of

Rubble courtesy of

I see old dreams whisper of long ago
But now they are rubbish in the wind blown

Forgotten and taken far away
Is it any wonder we wish the end this day?

And yet we live in forlorn hope
Give us a chance to tread tightrope

To hold something close to the heart
Before the fatal fall, beyond the start

Yet rubble we all sadly become
Under this dry old hidden sun

No comfort from warm souls
Just death’s icy fingers, boring two-fold…

Posted in: Poetry