A short poem based on the Canada warehouses and those who worked there
Blood red moon,
Battle’s coming soon.
Suspended in the sky,
Product of a lie.
Death by noon.
The precursor to a coming fiction post
Drops streaming down the cold, frigid surface
Slowing, freezing as they go.
Halfway down and they’re gone
Merged into one whole.
Stuck, frozen in place.
Beautiful snowflake like circles
Crystallised on the glass.
A moment in time and then gone
Small miracle, missed in a second.
Tattered, torn, yellowing, creased,
The signs of a truly loved book.
Twisting thoughts and flowing words.
Bonds inescapable, mind furled.
Bound to the chair, lost to the world.
Friends, lovers, family, kin,
Enemies and haters with you till the end,
Till the very last page and that very last word.
A wish, a hope to see what’s next.
Yet always a dread, dread of the close.
For it to be over,
Never to begin again.
Names flowing though your mind,
Questions that go unanswered.
Fake all of them and yet more real somehow.
It’s a skill, an art, to bind the mind just now.
It’s a blessing, a gift, to read that script,
That has you gripped.
To lose yourself in another world.
Winter’s mist, rolling in off the hills.
It creeps up and pounces,
Rolls along the ground.
It’s silent and deadly,
Comes and goes unseen,
Because winter’s mist, always has the mist to hide in.
A single word uttered,
A thought only muttered.
A crash and a band,
Then the telephone rang.
They seem so long ago,
As you struggle through your day.
They seem so distant,
As you toil away.
Wait for it,
Just a little longer.
We’re so very different,
My friend and I.
Not just in looks,
Or the scan of an eye.
We get on so well,
Like a house on fire.
But down at the roots,
We should raise each others ire.
Something’s not right,