Dead-end

As evening sweeps the remnants of broken glass from the floor

the spills of another hard-luck tale

that got sucked in through the door

I’m hunched in the corner of a dead-end bar

this loner’s game

like walking out into a night without stars.

 

The crowd stagger clumsily into the street

as smoke curls around my fingertips

rising like an apparition

from a city of ash-brittle dreams.

A Lack of Colour

The sky was grey

the mist over the clifftops was grey

the sea grey

the horizon line had turned so pale a grey

it couldn’t be seen with the naked eye

the mood was grey

grey seabirds were flying up above

singing, grey seabird songs

the sea air blowing across the beach

even had an icy chill, that felt grey

with occasional grey raindrops

that stung my pale grey face (and pink nose)

as grey waves were crashing on the shoreline

colliding violently with grey rocks

I walked along the grey sand

the shadows beneath my weary eyes, grey

the woollen hat on my head, grey

the hair beneath it prematurely grey

my thoughts-

 

it was a grade A, grey day

that lasted and lasted

you see

there was a distinct lack of colour

without you.

 

 

Hindsight

How often my heart sinks when you talk that way,

when you remind me

how it was when I was drowning.

 

Caught in a maelstrom of emotions, delusions and paranoia

when I was lost to myself completely.

 

Now I watch and listen, over my glass of gin

tonic, ice and a slice of citrus, bittersweet

pondering possible cures.

 

There are no answers

when the light leaves your eyes,

not even a healthy dose of hindsight, and wishful thinking.