Days pass like morsels
of toast falling on the
kerb of a busy bakery;
I watch them hungrily,
knowing full well that
I cannot possibly taste them,
savour the tasty bits
and spit the crust out.
Our lives are no longer simple,
pith, rind and stone,
scream to be touched and remembered tenderly.
Memories are never subtle,
they wear you down
with sudden weight, you
struggle to get off your chest,
for a century.
The thorn never loses its prick
and the sanctimonious wound
of a heart oozes for a lifetime.