The candles have all burned out,
and the wine has been drunk.
Cheeks have been kissed and at last
the party has come to an end. Read more »
The maw of the great,
was gaping menacingly before me. Read more »
Sometimes it’s the meaningless conversations
that are remembered the most.
The trivial chatter
At the end of the day
are we anything more
than a collection of memories?
The wind blows swiftly,
yet the light doesn’t glimmer.
The cold bites fiercely,
and still no heat comes.
in an ever growing darkness.
False truth in a form we can all sympathize with.
Read more »
I’ve something to say
but no words to say it with.
No combination of letters,
can capture the unfinished image
echoing around my mind.
Read more »
All I could hear was the quickening beat of my heart, and the shouting. The little girl was staring up at her mother with watery eyes and cheeks flecked red with anxiety. Her mother, who looked as if she’d already been quenching her thirst that morning, was throwing insults and curses into the little girl’s face and shaking her fists in the air. The little girl could only sniffle in reply. Every inch of my body was screaming to stand; screaming to help. Despite my rising anger, I found that I couldn’t even look in their direction. Littered throughout the room I saw other observers acting just the same. They were staring into space but listening intently. The expressions on their faces ranged from mild annoyance to true empathetic pain. Read more »
Heavy mist muffles the sun’s
All throughout the winding streets
and the lush green parks,
Fog swirls across the Thames,
as it slowly laps upon its banks.
Under this darkness,
and beautiful fog drenched darkness,
a different London comes alive.
A London where ghosts
of days gone by
emerge from the rolling fog,
to tour their majestic city once more.
One can hear a distinctive clopping over bridges,
the distant whistle of a bomb...
The thrum of a steam boat
and the tolling of the clock tower.
The clock’s amber glow colours the abundant fog,
illuminating the bustles and pocket watches of those
ghostly men and women of long long ago.
Thus is the night,
of the ancient
Known best by those who lived through it all;
and the fog.