Franciszka13

An Old Lover And A New Friend A man stirred in his bed basking in the mid-morning warmth which glared at him from the window. He smiled through the slow haze feeling the dip in the mattress and the heat that indicated another body lay behind him. He turned sliding his hand up to greet his lover and murmuring intimate greetings. His hand met cool sheets and a smooth mattress. The reality of the situation woke him from his wanderings and all pleasant thoughts fled. Looking across the dull London skyline and hearing the ever present hum of cars he hunched over the window-sill and felt the cold harsh lines of the brick window-sill digging into

It was a simple way of life, Toil, church, soil, The great eye, the centrepiece of the sky, Watching down, Beating my back with flails of contemptuous indifference; Yes, life was simple. When, to pray? Was not a question, And to question indifference was to question Authority, and to question authority, Was to question creation. Wait, what was the question? Through the father and the son We were enslaved and mollified, He has spoken thorough the profits, But he couldn't speak our patois. Yet we do not mind. We smile benignly and Act as if we are none the wiser, If we do we are left alone; We see not death though a visor.

Beneath the regal upright brae, lay a circle of unaffected trees, everyday an alderman would come to snip the leaves, he then would leave and pray, a wish that his efforts had not gone astray; yet sure to be, through the night the knotted knurls had unfurled, spread their fronds into the light. Thin and weedy they first grew, then Strong fronted by their lucidity; more in numbers the propagators grew, but they could not be curbed by the ringed word. The shears they cut and hacked for naught, the mother root still flapped about. Affected like a hive the single mindedness took to foot; from the valley up the knoll the Castorite

Blank, docile, like a child, Around for an inconstant while, Shriveled from despair; Serene without a care. Once tall and grew with inconstant haste, Now welcomes fall with sculptured grace, Inviting in the rot, withered by Coleman's lot, All root and plot laid to waste. Elevated by ambivalence, Worldly worries do not mar, Belief in age, bound by ring; A partner felled, alone she will sing. A song of horror, whispered slowly, the lyrics consigned to oblivion, By a forest fire that burns within. (They ran for shelter from the bombs) Yet all effort was moot, They found themselves stuck fast by root. Shriveled moaning, born fro