I look into my life. It’s distorted, Curved at the peripheries ‘Till I’m required to squint, Just to make out the features Beneath the glass.
In the snow lies dead thought. Water stagnant, Green-blue and faded paintwork. How I ache for that great hand To lift, shake and cascade me With memories.
Rain on me my life’s memoirs. Drown me in snow. I sit and I wait for when These monotone streets will Fan and flame, burst to colour, Burst to flavour.
My romanticised past, I marvel at. Recall each day as a dream, And each night an excursion Of wanderlust, innocence And fair fortune.
For now, I’ll remain here. These arching walls, My old translucent prison. Life in stasis, I’m stubborn As I avoid career-paths In my dome,
And wonder when this world Will begin to feel like home.