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Gurgle, the baby’s passion squiggles

And wriggles with excitement

As my ageing fresh already crinkles.


Inching and stretching

The years get less refreshing,

Fleshing out my inner spirit

In a fitting tantrum of slipping time.


Mine.


Why isn’t the world wide mine yet?


These baby blue’s dreams

Careful rhymes

No fruition of dreams -

Just a hard aching of time.


The conditioning of the cynical

Society-beaten "truths"

All the optimism of my psyche

Lost to my short-lived youth.


The big bad world out there

Snipes in harsh aggression.

There’s no room for lullaby

Just a leary recession...


No transgression to maturity

Just this hardened world view.

We forgot how to feel light

To see life as brand new.

The sun is smiling today,

Asking to leave the shadow behind me.

Politely I turn to the silver cloud,

Asking how it always manages to find me.

The tectonics shift

Sand slips helpless through an hourglass

Change is imminent, cataclysmic and crass

It calls on the wind as our nails puncture the grass

As we cling even tighter to loose archaic structure

Scraping the sky in its surrendering crumble

While we claw and tumble to the deepest depression

What do you really fear? Collective transgression?

While human insanity erupts into a sweating red fever

Our home is a wasteland - it can't help you either.

But the threat of hope looms,

Challenging a guilty psyche

There’s a crack in the nut

There’s a chink in the armour

There’s a macabre churning

There’s a debt collector, called Karma.

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Website by @itskatienicholas

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