Richard Pierce

Richard Pierce – author, poet, painter

Life, Poetry


It was a lie.

Summer was meant to
Outfit him with enough
Heat to last a year.
It ran out before
The autumn solstice,
The last few days
A grey palette
Of wind and rain.

It could only ever have been a lie.

Nothing lasts, and
Decay breathed in
Through the window,
The wind a spy through
The gaps. His flesh
Atrophied as the heat
Left his body.

All this is a lie.

R 19/09/2023 14:04

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