Hidden Victories

Those pockets of silence,

Travel between them

A pilgrim seeking holy places,

Hands capable of violence

Yet at rest against themselves

When not at play on the territory of you,

But you sleep, I grind,

No one knows what it takes to be this,

How each day,

Is a battle with toothsome

Loathsome devils,

Some of whom look like old lovers,

But in the silence

They die at my hand

And so, to see me calm,

Amused rather than angered,

Is to frame me in the light of

Hidden victories,

My book Until She Sings is out now.


Until She Sings https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07XJRDND8/ref=cm_sw_r_cp_apa_i_e9pLDbMJNZQ4E

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

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