Chest pains spoked wheels splayed
spooked reins horse bolting
bolted to blame, blood letting
pulled back black blade, only
resetting to restart the bleeding again
Spikes poking through fragile skin
invoking an imagined maelstrom
a stormy whirlwind
aching to return back to anything
apart from this terminal maddening
Making something, take something away from him
erasing stains on a tarpaulin burned
by chilled flames, raking the coals away again
embers of remembering, trained to
turn away from redemption again
But there is no such thing as redemption my friend
Sanitised sun baked, bleached white
arrayed days, stark sliding nights
sliding by, hours grinding inching
from sigh to sigh, snake minutes coiled
eyes blinking as time snails by
Stare at the wall and feel the anxiety
creep in. Wonder if maybe you'll give in?
Throw the towel in?
But an old lion finally growls inside, a singed paw
shrouds a tired mind.
Not this time my child, this hour is mine.
by Paul Sinclair