Like Death it was inevitable:
When I was much younger
Friends would spend those
precious hours - After
school and before sleep
in front of the Television.
whilst I sat on my window
sill watching the trees in
mid dance, as a sqandron
of swan bid farwell to the
changing carpet below.
As Time moved on
and as those precious
hours pushed us into pubs
My friends would lust after
the Lollipop legs and cotton
candy faces that lifted tables;
brought together lust and laughter.
I would sit staring at the fire;
listen to the conffesions of
the burning logs.
A few family deaths later;
with time not slowing for rest.
I decided to become a hero,
A saviour of modern verse.
If I could write poetry -then
all would be well within me.
I blame Bukowski for that
I loved his work...
It just didn't work for me.
One more death later
whilst I was clearing out my dearly
departed Nans bedroom
Reminding myself of her.
Smelling the perfume,
looking at the ornaments
so carefully placed on
her bedside table.
I stumbled upon a book
'Collected poems of Larkin'
Suddenly I did not feel so alone.
The burning logs, the dancing trees,
the sqandron of swan.
Not Long Left
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/understanding-8/
