Taking me beside a becalmed sea on an afternoon estate,
but I wait for the atoms to smash and the storms to arrive,
survive only in a half forgotten melody that mother used to sing to me.

And yet these cartwheels I turn,
turn me about to race the wind.

Time travels slowly between the lines on my face
and I age silently
I hope,
some grace,

given that charity exists
some will take pity and
others will go by,
it’s a lottery as to who
and when and if I’m here
again tomorrow,
I survived.

I tire of gnawing away
not knowing

Yet to be confirmed
continued on the next
I stopped reading the
‘ extra ‘
and settled for the regular,

less stress.

In the Morning.

I thought they were tears in her eyes
it was candle wax in mine

the light is an imp.

Watching as more breakers lower the bar
the tide’s coming in
I feel like going,
but I gnaw away
not knowing.

© 2019, John Smallshaw.