Throwing smoke at scarlet monocles,
roots grow from the inhospitable grounds,
temperature flush, heart beat quicken,
rep tulips,
burnt rose petals,
hunted by time,
mischief drought,
we choke.
we drown.

Callused is history, in a rock on a thought.

how far we become a drift;                   out of place,
beggars grovelling before a strangers shadow,
no reason for right, violent colours stained grey,
lost memories trampled by the silence of tears,
the rain is cold, but listens, empathetic is no one,
we grovel, out of place, in a strangers way.

I hope for rain.

the wind does not howl.
the sun does not shine.
Concrete paste thickens,
and into thought we dive.
persecution of the divided ,
well managed,
we lie.