Tomorrow
I will not find myself wallowing in nostalgia,
I will not give in to seeing a sunshine bloom
where a dying rose sags
and slowly fades
away,
losing colour, curled up and closing in on confusion
of why it is no longer loved;
for tomorrow I will not disappear in melancholy,
why would I,
when I can do it beautifully
today.
Ian D. Hall 2017
I have never been at anyone’s beck and call,
I will tug no lock nor doff my trilby to no one,
I will admire in great abundance but I will not lick your arse clean
nor allow you to make me feel like I am worthless;
for I am not your whipping boy.
I place the smoky glass in front of me as I wish it to tempt me,
inside I want it to take me to a place where
you cannot reach me, because the last thing I want