21 September

Missent words
reflected in a new
message grow
old.

To taste the touch
to leave me in
the dark – is
this a sign unrecognised?

Too much talk
on an empty mind.
That’s what
this is –

or could it be?

A blind side
unrecognised.

Whining myself
on talk below the
mind, yet the mindless
thoughts house
themselves securely and sure.

Leave me,
remove them;
this I know,
is only a worthless
request.

Flint afore my
eyes, sparks from
a stone, the knowledge
of decisions
from nights ago
freshen the skin in an
unnamed shame.

But were the decisions
regret or correct –
that is what I still
need to know.

The Spirit of 45

Support from the
Aye still resides
days on.

The streets, though,
wear rained-out
rain-down ideals
from either side.

This is a time to
remember, or at
worst, to have to
know.

Is this the
taste of optimism
turnt wrong?

Or is this the start
of a movement just
begun?

Talk of revolution
with restless sleep
and clouded dreams –
but what will result, if a scene
is something yet uknown
whether to be.

Old firms fight
from abroad while here
in the Mound they act as if
life can somehow go on.

Promised powers go on to
be promised without a note of change
to the current pace of those
South of Arthur’s Hill.

Will there be yet again
a fight of words, or does it now
call of action, borrowed from
the Firm?