April 7, 2019Poem
The colonial virus
lossgriefnaturepoliticstimelove
The colonial virus
It is a chill
Sharply drawn
Stone cold
Madame Tussauds
Death stare
A featureless parade
Of arid, brittle life
Devoid of warmth
A dry crust
Easy to powder
Beneath heavy hearted
Footsteps dragged
As dead weight
Laden with grief
In old buckets
Full of holes
Corner bought
Cheaply made
Over priced
A seller's market
Succulents are a misnomer
In a desert
Nothing is known
About frippery
Small acts
With a weight
Of consequence
Be kind or be damned
Pass by
On the other side
Leave space
No road is less
Travelled
Strangers enjoy
Scenery
The fall is hardest
On the lonely soul
Carry the weight
Even a short way
Balance the joy
It is a kindness
It will live on
Long after
The living is done.