Monday, 17 March 2008

You write long letters

Over the years,

I’ve gathered moss,

Between my toes

A sterling cross

Is choking me.

Or is it the brambles

Growing where I skipped

Along the road?

Before reason dropped my hand

Scattering my ashes of luck

Into a pit of confusion

And I started to wander

Aimlessly, naked, dead.

Until it was dusk,

The bends were blind

And all I could see

Were cats eyes,

The painted line

Down the centre;

Eventually, in time,

It, too, would fade to black.

You walk on ahead,

You write long letters;

Give way, stop!

Not realising

I’m already dead.

1 comment:

cheryl63 said...

Very interesting Kathryn - not as depressing as I feared!