This blog is now the shell of its former self, just a few old, and light, pieces. My Substack contains much of what was here, updated, along with lots of new material. Should the Substack thing fall apart, then it will all appear here again, but for now, snack here on some hors d’oeuvres, then head over there for the main course.
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THINGS UNSAID
In a pillowed cot,
Safe and sound,
The sorrowing heart is
sorrow bound
Until into
adventure led
By things unsaid that
speak in bed.
In hell’s deep hell
there is a sign,
Which says that
‘everything is fine’.
So let’s ignore
our nameless dread;
That things unsaid
will speak in bed.
But something’s missing,
something’s wrong;
And something’s been
wrong all along.
Across the void
a smile is spread;
But things unsaid
will speak in bed.
You know every trick
in the book,
You know just
where not to look,
But lies in
desperation bred,
Are things unsaid
that speak in bed.
You can’t tell her
what’s on your mind.
Because the truth
is so unkind.
You kiss goodnight
and sleep instead;
But things unsaid
will speak in bed.
You run in mud,
From spectred limbs,
The spectred face
Just grins and grins,
As you and yours
Are slowly fed,
To things unsaid
That speak in bed.
You’re shot to bits
and overwrought
Tormented by
a single thought
That turns by night
around your head;
That things unsaid
will speak in bed.
The light unshadowed
shutting down
Does darkling sink
into the town
And all that lives
will soon be dead;
And things unsaid
will speak in bed.
In a me-shaped room,
Underground,
The mortal heart
is mortal bound
Until into
the big room led
By things unsaid
that speak in bed.