It is the long day before,

the cruel winter of bare tree thought

has plagued me since

the start of September’s fallen

and I find my reasoning

has deserted me, the fear

of your constant rejection

moulding me into the man I am.

The soulless winter

in my life, you

couldn’t touch the spring in which

you rallied against,

you ignored me,

I found it was easier

to live without you

and I told you such

when my old Queen died.

Your words were always barbed,

now I find as the day draws to its close

I cannot untangle the wire

that I posted

in deep unforgiving ground

to keep us at bay.

 

Ian D. Hall 2018