Step to the beat, don’t call quits.
Hear these sounds calling.
Prophetic taunts soaked in humour.
This bells rings at the wrong time.
As gums do flap upon the hill.
Mark my words, no more standing still.
What are these days ahead?
Lifted from another’s bed.
Parallel to where ai stood before.
All I smell is blood from my skin that’s raw.
March with drum, join in the cry.
Forever a victim at a graveside.
Singled out for how I stood alone.
Baying for mercy with a head full of stone.
Counting my marbles one by one.
Soon I could be down to having none.
Segmented, I am feeling weak.
Tomorrow is where I want no repeat.
For circles are all I ever seem to tread.
This skin is what I most need to shed.
Patterns in porous rock.
Deafened by the chiming clock.
Carved without a sense of self.
Divided I wonder whether I will melt.
Join a frayed forever strand.
Right my ship or descend down this eroded land.
Swallow up all that could once have been planned!
Simon A Jackson - Writer 