and these tired eyes stare blankly at the screen willing words of beauty to emerge but only tumbling thoughts and fumbling weary weight as fingers slip and slide ‘cross keyboard and I wonder is anything left of me when all are done and had their part or just this husk drawn to dust and fading…… Continue reading husk

tired island

morning came too early today afternoon stretched out for years screen-dry eyes still sticky with sleep work took all of me there is little left wide-asleep space-staring sofa-propped while pixel-weapons boom and life goes on around me

Growing Old

will I lose myself     become an empty shell     shrivelled and dry     with nothing left of me a desiccated husk     a wisp floating on the wind this life, this vibrancy     fading away to dust sparkles fizzling out     like dud fireworks as this ache     takes all that I am my colours fading     bones growing     ever more weary…… Continue reading Growing Old