I sheaf through the loose sheets of my past
Picking up the pieces from broken shards
An ancient painting craft in oils and pastels
Gathered in a dimly lit corner of my subconscious.
What are they but memories adrift
Built just to be forgotten
No intention to uplift
Particles of dust, now dissolved.
Echoes waver at dawn’s call,
Shadows spring at Winter’s toll,
A wraith no less, gaunt of face,
Lifeless eyes and limbless Grace.
It summons me to a waltz,
The sweet surrender of decay,
No flesh just bones and creaking joints,
A Priest in-flight reads the last rites.
A gaping hole for a mouth
Open wide with nowt but a vacuum inside
An endless swirl of pain through vice
Of which I shall partake no more, not twice.
A thread of compassion Binds us still
But this chord is cut through power of will
To you my past I bid adieu
And turn a new leaf with my true hue.
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