Your bones
Cling still
To that wall.

A forever scene
Of your
Last stand.

The colour of time.
A pale reminder

That you tried

To climb higher
Than anyone

Is allowed.


Over Your Shoulder

Not a single eye,
Could spare an upward glance.
No flesh gently prickled,
In the colourless morning.

The cracks were small.
Tickling the distance.

Routines fulfilled their role,
The most popular dance.
No hair stood to attention,
In the colourless morning.

The cracks they grew,
Grinning, running wildly.

Life meandered slowly,
So easily distracting the living.
No heart revved its beat,
In the colourless morning.

Oh, the cracks are yawning,
Too wide.

So late.