There was a time,
I remember it well,
that I loved you
so much that I was willing
to forget everything else you did.
There was a time,
I remember it well,
that all you were
to me was pain and suffering,
I vowed to recall every second.
There was a time,
I remember it well,
I swore I would
die for you, to find you
placed me in the firing line.
There was a time,
Save a kiss for the hangman
as you approach the noose,
the rope to burn, the lynch
knot at the back of your neck,
soon to pull, but save
a kiss for the hangman,
gentle tidings pass the time
between wide eyed staring down
the audience, a kiss for the hangman
is what they won’t expect,
for in their minds the guilty
don’t display such beauty,
the gallows always call,
but on your way
to the timber beams and strong rope
of public opinion,
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 thought I’d take a trip to see an old friend,
meet halfway and agree upon the same conclusion
that it had been far too long since we last spent
Time killing time
and the talk of old things between us,
that bound us and which into Middle Age
no longer mattered.
The distance between us was never that far
even after nearly three decades apart
and I reminded him of the blow
by blow replication that he did for me
of my then favourite album cover and wondered if he