Green and pleasant isle

Hills shrouded in shadows of clouds, Trees still waiting to burst into springs full glory, Black tarmac hums beneath my wheels, Softening in the warm April sun,
The air crisp and fresh against my skin,
With subtle undertones of the impending summer,
Shades dusted off for the new season,
Shorts and sun cream summers almost upon us once more,
Time to cook our skin and blind our eyes,
But while this land baske’s in England’s glory
Of holidays past and those pending,
I live, trapped and tortured,
In a hell of my own making,
But as I watch this life pass before these haunted eyes,
The beast within me feeds,
Devouring my soul,
Supping on the juices of my being,
Will I ever have the strength to redeem this tattered soul and rise?
To soar once more in blue sky’s,
Through this glorious firmament,
And dance amongst the stars once more,
To live to see the moon flicked across the surface of a still summer pond, Will my only redemption be through my own mortality?
I curse those of my past, who beguiled me,
Once the wool of human kindnesses blinded my voyage through this mystery tour,
But now with new eyes I see the truth in full dreadfulness, Alcohol and narcotics ease this pain of my new world,
But in my sobering I find no movement of my woe,
My pillow still damp from tears I have shed,
My babies faces reflected from the bottom of my glass and every bottle, They haunt every recess of my waking hour,
Terrorise every moment of sleep,
In a longing to be near again,
But my hands bound and tethered to my new future, Of part time father,
No meaning left to this empty life I live,
The drudgery of existence weights heavy on me,
As the rope to my end lays there slack and loose,
The beam above just holding up this roof,
To combine the two to release my sadness is ever present,
But for now just to gaze and multiply the two in divisions of fractions, Nicotine and alcohol slowly helping me avoid what on my mind, Rain drips and minutes tick breaking my thoughts,
To do my shift in a few hours takes hold of my mind,
And this spent and feeble body follows,
Elvis must wait to see me for a few hours more,
As I stumble though empty rooms,
Footsteps echoing my eternal pain through out,
I have live a life of strangers touching my soul,
Like night and day, they never settle to one,
Living in this life of moody blue, cold and harsh,
We unravel but never to the aniseed pip,
In this gobstopper of life,
Jaws ache from what I say in meaninglessness,
Just to reach for you,
And on this stage of life I live in tragedy for my part in a farce, But yet I must play my part with no early exit,
Just wait for this failing body to give up,
But while on my empty stage, I call for my curtain,
As the prompt calls my lines,
Regardless of the wise men from being telling me how,
But for now I lurch through until this spotlight wanes,
And for once I may leave,
With not a curtain call in sight.

Myrtle Burr and gold click pen. More on Bespoke Woods Facebook page .
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