poems, Short poems

I fear you won’t get read.

I fear you won’t get read.

23/03/2018

I fear you won’t get read.

Like the unmarried woman.

The weak man, the honest government employee.

Shamed in a stereotype of mediocrity.

I fear you won’t get read.

The untouched in a kinky bed.

The feta cheese that didn’t make it.

The garden we never raked.

Half done and all completed sat on a spinning pebble by God’s great feet.

I fear you won’t get read.

An eye for an eye and I’m seeing red.

28th March and twenty six years on.

I still see how you bled and still feel how you’re gone.

I fear you won’t get read.

What have I done?

Four years and an umarked grave. The only grace in a button called save.

Still tomorrow IS guaranteed, is the type of illusion which we need to believe.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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