100 metres to the end,
The finish line’s in sight
You’re laughing,’cos you can’t defend
Your feelings from last night
‘Cos it was all fine, not to worry
Your legs were there to carry you
“It is all mine”, so slightly sorry
Your lack of practice tarried you
But in the end, it is all blind
You can only wait and hope
You’ve left the others far behind
And tripping in the scope
Pete Hall may have a named place
And your name draws from the hat
And then the name’s stuck to the face
Before you know, that’s that
And if it ain’t, well then it ain’t
No use crying over lord’s own spilled paint
In the back of your mind, there’s still a force
Adding “St Andrews had a very nice course.”

Pressed flowers
Like pages
Of the Bible I’ve never opened
But weighs heavy on my back
Southern strains
The belt
The weight
All pressed
Flowers
In pages

Sun rays dancing on her bronzed skin
Her, dancing through my mind
The smile that portray my summer
Her giggle, the music my ears crave
Her cherry flavored lips
The mystery hidden in her dimples
Wild child, wild, lost?

I talk to my cats,
to the shadows on the wall,

I talk to myself,
or I don't talk at all.

I'm swirling in thoughts
that won't stay away.

I spend far too much time
wasted this way.

Stuck somewhere between
depressed and numb,

My only reprieve,
sitting in the sun.

Moments while the rays
illuminate my skin

I don't feel so trapped,
I dont feel shut in.

Sun watches how I lie,
But moon knows why.

I lost the key to unbind my soul
And I thought I would never find it
Until one night
At a bridge between life and death
I came to an understanding
The pavement at the bottom of the bridge wasn’t they key
My soul was never bound in the first place