My life is small
vacant shells upon the shore.
As I scurry amid the herd, of cloven tongued believers,
let old worn blankets, shield my bones
from this bitter cold.
Yet, undecided, I remain rooted in the architecture
of my unvarying indecision.
I look to calculate amongst the jostling crowds
friends, of few – I do perceive.
Throw me a smile, play court to favours rendered
break the bread, share my wine.
Let the snakes wait under cover of the dark
for the air is burdened with false trust.
Go familiar when your foe has not but shown
at peril, to yourself.
White suffused with red
more crimson than the fallen dead.
For in the plaintive of their call – comes silence.
My life is echoed, my life is small, and so shall you
forgive me Father, as I countenance
my demons, unaccompanied –
whilst cowering on the run…
Poppy Nov 2012