Derelict
Putting a hand out, she whispered
'Might you help?'
I closed my eyes and moved on.
Raising her voice, she called
'Might you help?'
I squeezed my eyelids together,
and ran.
The tragedy of life lies with the ancient.
A ragged creature sat beside
the king.
Here, on the throne of impotence,
no man can reach a hand
to the spectre
of damnation.
'Goodbye!'
The old put out their hands
to catch the breadcrumbs,
stuck to a spot of ice,
in the heart of Summer.
Embrocated with concoctions
from the almighty hand of man,
who let them decay to worms,
around the corner,
they go to sleep
with molten wax
filling their veins.