A voiced cracked by age
Fingers contorted by time
Joints just the same
But all that is a lie

The drink helps loosen your tongue
As tales untold spill out
How did this go on?
And nothing done about?

"Golden generation" They say
The best of us still now
But what if you were to replay
The whos, the whats, the hows

That knock on your door
A pleasant smile and a nod
Well-meaning you were sure
If - just a little - odd...

It's the fifties though and that's that
You oblige him to come in
Like a gent removes his hat
To reveal a wolfish grin

"Show me upstairs, if you would" he demands
Your eyes look away as you recall
And the scars now show as trembling hands
As you say, "That was all".

It's hard to know what to say at times like this
Report it you should (have) do or done
But shoulds and coulds won't change what is
There are few battles left to be won
So as our talk comes to a close,
I sit, I nod, I think and...

It hurts to lose.
If I could choose;
I'd much rather fail,
In comparison: pale

It's better in sport;
When you fall short,
At least you can say
"It just wasn't my day"

But to wait for so long,
Not knowing right or wrong;
Lets the mind swell
Imagining what went well..

Telling others the tale
Of your great prevail
And accepting the plaud
Like an actor Awards

But it's all ripped away
By words throwaway
An invisible loss.

He didn't know you
Did he?
So why is he crying?
How can he weep?
Why is he here?

Sentiments echoed from decades ago
Now swell with selfish doubt

Back then he was me
A bystander
A passenger
A witness, helpless
Useless.

Not just once in fact, but more
Being that cold shoulder

Unfeeling to the sorrow
These days
The pain
Still raw
Yet numb

And yet, he cries today
Just as he did then

With anguish, remorse
And regret
Uncontrollable, honest
But awful
And coarse

Be strong, for her at least
Be selfless, be there. Now

But the grip takes hold
Seizes throat
Twists gut
Deep down
Crushing

She is so strong to absorb it
Reading each card and balloon

Each beautiful flower reflects
Those who loved
And cared
Who celebrate now
In mourning

He sits. Useless. Impotent. Void.
A cold shadow of 'life'.

The anguish burns and spreads
Into those self-made
Black spaces
Eyes fight
Throat clear

Self-pity consumes the moment
The ifs, the buts, the maybes, the ors

He locks it away now. Again.
All of it....
Most...
Some..
None.

Beneath me, touching toes you lie
I don't count anymore, rather endure the crunch and crinkle of pretty patterns now in-flow.

Twisted white sheets beckoned bedfellows before but,
now we writhe in wit and wonder:
knowing when or when it how.

Atop the distanced hill we stare
fixated, on future duty, care
about it then, so far away. But comfort
that it binds us now.

It's late.
I know.
Yet the clock still ticks
Still lets me twitch
Creates itch and fidget
Craves spark and so...

It's later now.
I see.
But resistant we remain
Conjuring thoughts to sustain
Finding things to blame
Though rest to flee.

It will be time soon.
I think.
Heavy head thoughts bleed
Planting crumbs and seeds
To follow and lead
Darkness now with a blink.

Stood silent and solemn,
Magnificent monsters moulded, made
Ghostly gods of great glory
Tremble through time, still. now

Lying low. Lame and languid
Founding figures fall fast
Crashing to cold concrete, uncaring

Embers echo, every voice
Fights free, for force

Bends. Breaks. Builds. Breathes