Saturday, 27 February 2016

But even the very middle of my heart…



In limbo (I feel that I am nowhere now)
For Gilly, Graeme, and Rose…


I am not dying
     (except in the usual gentle way)
And am only old
     (to those whose adventures are over brave)
Between these two states
     (a permanent purgatory of sorts

     where devilish disease with virtue sports)
Such circumstance grates
     (marking but not able to heed the grave)
Thus no longer bold
     (snatching at clouds brandishing words of clay)
I am but sighing
I am not living
     (with the clear significance of just men)
Though inanimate
     (a mirrored model of most needful toil)
Stagnant but not still
     (oppressed by judicious expectation

     and circumscribed with patent frustration)
Lacking want nor will
     (aspiration shall replace all shook foil)
Hence to demonstrate
     (however abject yet ever driven)
I am forgiving


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