Breathe Son

 

A change of style upon

A ratchet,

The bolt bored of the same

Old screw, a change of life

If you can snatch it – thrown

A line to an empty truth.

 

Schooled in five an

Open closet greets the

Closing doors of days, where

Haze of smoke through

Summer rays begs I open

Shutters,

     But anchor fast on broken

Floors has me trapped within

Forgotten wards

          Where mind is chaste

From sold out stalls; begs be

No majestic.

 

This mind imprisoned,

This damned convict of a conscience

            Denying  infant torture,

Reveals a harsh reality,

Steals the mind for slaughter;

 

(The twenty-first of September nineteen ninety-eight)

 

            Time stalked,

Theatre clocks stalled their

Toc till the babe began to breathe,

Born shocked, no life and blue

Upon cold steel, and the

Empty truth,

                        In a world

Where liberty is measured

By a natural state of health,

And wealth within a purse

I couldn’t take

The pain of life, a reflection

Of my own true self,

My fruit of loin I gave,

Shocked before

He’s lived,

            Himself imprisoned by a memory hid!

 

For Fabian

 

Michael J Waite 2030hrs Friday the thirteenth 2009