The centre of it was the way
His mind refused to shelter him
From the worst of him, that it
Seemed to take pleasure in adding
To the torture, of repeating every
Second that he was worse than
Nothing and that no-one had
Ever loved him, just like his
Parents who continually
Deserted him. There is
No echo in that memory,
Just an anger, and it is
The crux of his life.
R 16/05/2023 20:08
R 16/05/2023 20:13
we crucified those we thought sinners
without realising the sins we were committing
even if the crucifixions were by word only
and no-one died or lost any blood
at the time we didn’t lose any sleep over
the wandering hands of our vengeful words
they seemed like the just rewards for those
who had placed a crux into our path we
hadn’t been able to bypass or solve
because life doesn’t bear solving
because living it is not the problem
it’s the way we live it that is
R 16/05/2023 20:18
Three for the price of none. I must be feeling out of sorts.
London all day tomorrow and half of Thursday. I will attempt to write at least one poem tomorrow, at some point. Probably on the train down this time.
I wish it would get warm.
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