What lived here
Sometimes I am prone to envy
Of those who slip away
Give up, lay down and scrabble
Because failure cuts deep,
And you can sustain an infinite amount
Of wounds without dying,
Here, a place visited,As much a church to me
As any library,But I’ve survived the worst combinations of love and hate,
And listen to me,You can too, because there’s a savage, quiet joy in advancing your position,Because the world knocks me off myFeet and I get up,Because I know what a bastard I can be,And those parts of me,They don’t offer sympathy,So much competition,So little reward,But I’m the product of a million year’s evolution,

And as much as I love the woods,

There are more stages now,

And as a bastard in remission,I enter into the fray,

Offer my art and soul,

Heart and sole,

Offered that I’ve been an asshole, too

But I’m working on

Being destroyed by it

Returning, scarred but smiling,

And a squirrel climbs a tree

Good omensFor the week ahead,

Home now,

Light and warmth,

Smiles which compel me towards the end of the season

Ambitions and empires no shelter




My book Until She Sings is out now.



Paperback: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1692105566/ref=cm_sw_r_cp_apa_i_4akEDb3FTWNKR

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