The pretentious prattlings of a piss poor poet
Here I stand
As pure as driven mud
Yet in your eyes
Whiter than white
Washed clean by your love
A knight in shining armour
A hero, a champion
And because this is what you believe
That is what I become
At least for a time
If not for an age.
I may fail
But, for you, I pick myself up
And try again
Because you believe
In me
16/07/1990
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Slow silent flows the river
Past willow, rush and grass
Mountain born
Snow fed
Aged now
Silt laden
Meandering, turgid
Giving of its being
As it passes
Heading onwards
Towards an ancient mixing
With wide Atlantic
06/09/2000
Leave a CommentA hunger
For life
Invades
My being
And leaves my soul
Filled
With wonder
26/09/1998
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