Thursday, 19 March 2015

Bus Stop Sunday 19:39

We are brave,
You are a warpaint screech
Reaching back into our
Corridor battles.

But whilst we have aged
Past landmarks
And recognition
You are strapped

For as we rack
On an inward history
You lift spiked battlements
Of mutual, youthful laughter.

And after all: we are
More than twice your age
And waged,
Engaged in life

And our momentary disquiet
Only highlights
The darker path
We've left behind.

You choose the top deck
And we reckon relief
In loosened breaths,
Ourselves again.


I have been writing a crapload of poems lately but not necessarily letting all of them out into air. Here's one.

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