The older you get,
the more like a child I become,
longing for moments unspoilt,
yet past.  

We are our mirror you and I,
the more you progress,
the more I regress!
This slow transition as we pass,
“each other”
for nothing lasts.

At what point like a child,
did I miss the child?
There is a sigh from the heart,
made only for a dad!

When your tiny little boy,
can now lift you like a toy,
laugh as you did,
alone you feel quite sad.

For any journey of an discernible distance,
you will require a passport.
Unless its local! You don’t need one for local!

I believe, we are all aware of this, somewhere deep within us,
and some like myself even choose to make their feelings vocal!

For any journey of any discernible distance?
I suppose your passports, you, know you!
In the absence of that its just local.
Perhaps what some call deja vu?

What beast amongst us thirsts of hurt?  
Swilling the killing of men and dirt,  

Its footsteps of pain through life are seen.  
Now old and rotten, though eyes still keen.  

Creation is followed by this spectre of death,  
we grow proud of all endeavours,  
yet on our neck  a foul breath!  

This gnarled and evil bitter beast
should long have been retired!

It cares not for these words, and never will,
it endures for it is required.

In this world I'm a lottery winner,  
oblivious to the millions beyond my TV,    
my hope somewhat more than a glimmer.    

Anything can happen in your own little world,  
the shame is that it never will,
perhaps I should upgrade to a different screen size?
At the behest of a doctor with a pill.  
My TVs the window.  

The reverse of what yours is to you,
different versions of the same kind of limbo,
You just get a “sight” more fresh air than I do!

Perhaps a sit in the garden?
An exercise yard for a cell,
a bit of VR before solitary confinement,
a screen saver for a life now unwell.
My TVs the window.

If your not careful you’ll know this for certain!
For like perhaps many other souls,
you could spend your life,
just a shadow behind an ageing net curtain.
My TVs the window.

Lament not for me dear friend.
For once more I feel the sun upon my face,
I smile content, my pain now gone,
beneath a firmament of love and grace.

Lament not for me dear friend.
Let not your heart suffer this bruise,
for I walk among friends, some of which you know,
within vessels that no soul may lose.

Live your life, and feel our love,
with every second come what may.
Lament not dear friend.
And above all do not fear.
For we are with you on that day.

Legitimates brother or sister,  
the “mirror”that implies of ill,
“illegitimate”The negative sibling,
shows its balance in life, yet still?

I constantly ponder, sometimes daily!
on”illusion” with pointless fuss.
Perceptively based with no brother or sister,
are there ramifications for us?

For if one implies it is not there,
but its opposite is not either,
is that on its own an indication,
that we have a grasp on neither?

Being singular it negates!

For our understanding of “illusion” knows no bounds.
Ergo..in the absence of one, we commit to the other?
Were all insane! Or that’s how it sounds.

A tear could crack this laboured face,
of gentle whispers, breath,
of hours and seconds, months and days,
few left enough to thieve.  

To steal ourselfs less others do,
committed to our days.  
A curious thing for those that say,
that crime it never pays.

A heart “once found” shall look to the sky
or in tired shame, they slowly fall.
Do not live of grey, if not your way,
for chains not seen , are the heaviest of all.