Deep excavation.
a warning by the administration
‘ keep clear ‘

No one wants to see a
be a
fallen angel.

I am encouraged by
those who try
to heed the word,

Through the slits of my eyes
where each morning cries
to enter,
resenting me
a breathing space between
the night and the dawning of day
I can see
children at play and wonder which
one is me

and the skipping rope we jump
over is hope,
each twist of the twine twists a little more time,
the time upon which we all feed.

We think it’s forever
it never can be,

I’m still wondering which
of those children is me.

© 2017, John Smallshaw.