Thursday, 6 March 2014

Resurface

 
The ground too hard to bury their dead,
The battered men outlive the long winter,
Content, on one hand. Somehow life
Was meant to endure, to sustain the little breath
It had infused here, centuries ago,
Seemingly by an unfortunate case
Of circumstances.
 

Daffodils

  Fists balled in the hollow of the eyes Sat in the old, creaky wicker chair The scream stuck in the pharynx Blue-overalls despair taking ho...