poems

Shots

 

Shots – from my life.

02/05/2017

Shots some, like the drink, from my life.

Pictures of a blonde baby, careless, slow aging. I’m putting magnetic letters on a toy board. Who knows? Maybe I spell my first word.

My hand sinks into our alsations fur.

It’s warm in the garden. I can smell his breath next to mine. Mixed with the lightest of green grass, safest here at home.

My sister’s crying. I’ve done her wrong. I witnessed feelings both weak and strong.

I hurt inside, I don’t know why. I cannot cry.

At nine I’m mostly a man in my mind. My grandparent’s both gone I learn if I search then I’ll find.

Discovered some answers, the truth of where I came from, looked up to my mum and then she was gone.

Flames, meditation and hypnotic regression released, destressing not exploding my obsession.

Children in a boat with very muddy coats. Mind’s alive with magic which keeps them all afloat.

Yellow are their rainproof’s with little sailors caps.

Some on straight some back to front some drippin in their laps.

There’s no water in the ocean for they float above the sky.

Balanced on a cloud within a twinkling of an eye.

 

© G.P Williamson 2017

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