Poetry

The doorway in my mind is a metaphor The doorway in my mind is a metaphor The long street that winds, and vanishes Into the mist, a question still unanswered From childhood—or

Stolen, forsaken Moments created in time Seconds turn to hours

You Can’t Force It You can’t force it, you can’t cause it You can’t make it happen just because you want it You can’t shape it out of

Every Morning Wading through complexity, noises a cacophony Voices vie for supremacy, inner children, DJs at quiztime A diabolical party, leaving you no time to think If even thinking would help. Helpless, floating

Keep it short, they said. So I did. 20 December 2021