#194 (to dust)

the joke stuck in his throat

every breath now a struggle

all the dark and the grey

he was left there to juggle

inside trees burning bright

inexorable fires

breaking twigs, trunks alight

once a plain

now a mire

toxic waste in his gaze

slowly creeping mistrust

kept his head in a daze

ground his wishes to dust

18th January

 

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