Sometimes I am lost

Sometimes I am lost

Not just for words

Although that is often true

Reflecting back

On what I should have said

Things I could have done

Which is a life less wasted

Than not lived,

But sitting on the sofa

The sky outside

Dull and grey

Trees swaying wildly

In the wind

Wondering if they will have the strength

To remain standing

In one place.

It isn’t easy

To spring back

Into shape every time

The wild wind leaves

A space.

Battle fatigue

Was a real thing.

It was called shell-shock,

As posh toffs

Could not be any crazier

Than they were.

Conscripted men

Were cowards

Or completely off their heads

But toffs were ill

And so psychological distress

Was born.

Is it dis-eased

To wander through

Moving images

Imagining the process

As a still life

When nothing really changes

But the seasons.

The interpretation

Is as reflexive

As an account

In terms of quantum cats

And a string

Of uncertain length,

When for a moment,

Everything remains possible.

The sky presses in

As trees bend lower

Too afraid to stand tall

In case they burst through

A glass ceiling

Or collapse

Into something completely different.