The pretentious prattlings of a piss poor poet
The shadows that we cast On life Are transient fleeting Ghosts of what might have been And then they change To what we have become The shadows that we cast Dance on the background Of reality And dim and fade and flit As do our beings In the universe The shadows that we cast Reflect how we are viewed By existence And when they cease In the light of a new dawn So do we
18/09/1998
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The leaves are turning now
Away back home
Nights are drawing in
Wood fires lit
Against late evening cool
Mists in early noon
Rolling over stubbled fields
From river turgid, slow
With a thousand remembrances
Yet here I am
Tied to the past
With pale recollections
To keep me sound
In this strange land
Of heat and dust and toil
Kept in motion
By unresolved yearnings
To return
To what I was
05/09/2009
Leave a CommentA hunger
For life
Invades
My being
And leaves my soul
Filled
With wonder
26/09/1998
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