Most days I would try to write a poem; it is a practice, as I suppose is meditation, or smiling, or watching the world go by
Saturday, 28 April 2012
Unite
Fifty-six hours from parting
Fifty-six hours untying the umbilical cord
Two days, no more
Two days from seeing you before
Seven years and one half from meeting
Seven years and one hell repeating
Mornings of madness
Daydreams of sadness
Days within secrecy
Nights without sorcery
Faith searches for forgiveness
Futile in any other guise
a poem from the collection Painted Toenails in Nortons Grate - Love with Varnish Appplied available by clicking here