He slumbers on, our creator The curator We are his dream Each day a scheme A giant who might one day wake And our world break Fragments of sleep From eyes that weep A nightmare from which he awoke Where... Continue Reading →
When does the quaint hope enhance the hour? I went to bed last night, at an unusually early hour Not sure I would wake up Visions of the 1950s Cold war hysteria Crowded my sleep Warmongers here Warmongers there The... Continue Reading →
The songbird's voice is stolen It's heart is ripped in two Caged, with spirit broken It's wild beauty dimmed too. Sitting in a dusty room In a corner dimmed by night It dreams of forbidden freedom Of long-forgotten flight. A... Continue Reading →
Scribbles from me to you 