Bereft of reason devoid of rhyme

we search yet for the door,

along the passages of time

for lives we lived before.

So far removed from the one who saw

the stars and the raindrops form,

watched lightning in awe we fall to the earth

without favour or grace, blinded by the colours

painted by the the human race.

The silvers of a nothingness, dark purples

of a deep unknowingness. This place.

All that could

have been

never was

nor ever should

have been.

Caught up in intrigues, ambitions, delight,

husbands, daughters, wives

and too busy for silence, or lasting insight

We slip between the moments of our lives.






Mike Mcnamara

Illustration Georgina Baillie

This entry was posted on in homepage and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.