Stolen bests

In a dream

there is a tree trimmed road

rolling to your door.


It doesn’t even cross my mind to step inside.


There’s a sky growing cold,

ageing  air

with a smell of wild grass

the hovering of beetles

battering through.

Nothing, no one else.


Now I have a stifling fear in my throat;

that everything I love-

stone paved floors,

smokey brick walls,

creeping moss,

heart-wrenching rebel songs-

is nothing but,

a memory of you.

That all of my best is what I stole from you

unwittingly, unknowingy

as I watched you avidly

through the cracks of your face,

as I drank in greedily

your golden rays.




I know from the sand of my bones,

that our script is destruction.

Hard, mind-blowing, life-threatening,

meaningless destruction.

So, there it is;

I just let you go

in a secret told

to air too thick

to carry it away.      

Photo - Hot afternoon in Langano by Chelsea Sullens

Photo – Hot afternoon in Langano by Chelsea Sullens