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
Could
Ever
Contain.
My book Until She Sings is out now.
Ebook:
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07XJRDND8If
Paperback: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1692105566/ref=cm_sw_r_cp_apa_i_4akEDb3FTWNKR
My Mailing List for announcements and news with a free short story as a thank you.
MB Blissett 