Thursday, 14 March 2013


No one plays here anymore.

Now there is only corroded metal.

Flaking paint that lies crumbling on stone;

Blowing like dust-dry memories.

A stain marks the ground.

The old swing moves.

Wind tugging at tired chain.

The links squeal a distant echo

Of a once more joyous sound.

There is no more laughter here;

No longer the calls of youthful voices
Cheerful play and bodies wrestling

In the yellow grass.

…Long gone,

Like the crisp autumn leaves

That tumbled in confused eddies,

Chasing along the river bank.

Occasional tears pass by.

The grass grows tall.

Litter faded with time.

No one plays here anymore.

Thursday, 7 March 2013



It dances in her eyes

Like an echo of her raging anger,

Her burning hatred

Her skin is the colour of ash:



Like her heart.

Her blood runs cold.

There is no heat in the fire.

Her bitterness is a vacuum

Into which all warmth is sucked.

Remorse is gone;


A distant memory.

She senses his pain.

She smiles.

Betrayal fuels her.

Resentment drives her.

And now, like her searing jealousy,

He will burn.