Oh, how it hurt
That refusal
That rebuff
Cut and wounded
I withdrew
Licked my wounds
Plastered my sores
Bandaged my cuts
My bruises cold-iced
My shame . . .
Yes, in truth,
Perhaps it was
More shame
Than a broken heart
Pride undermined
Ego squashed
That doesn’t help
Because
There is more shame
In it being shame.
I see that now …
And am ashamed.
Photo: WHB – 2019
Silver gilt
glistens
Holding
My framed
Existence in its
Reflected copy
How
I wish away
My life
In exotic scenes
Imaged opulence
Amidst
A morbid
Decaying life
I ask no more
Than for an echo of my future
In my next glimpse
To come to my rescue
And transcribe
My defeatism
Into a reassuring future
No man
Can live for ever
But
To the end
He can deny
That thought
The River Thames at Chertsey, Surrey: Photos – WHB ©
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