The Deceiver…


Time has been having sport of me this weekend. It has been playing games. Whilst awake, I have grasped at the past words of a much younger me, mourned the passing of a faulted me, and unearthed the words that were buried long ago.

Time has had its sport, it has let me loose, and chased me down.

But there are no baying hounds that await me, only the realisation of the moment, the moment that spells now, in letters and in fact.


Time to move on?


6 thoughts on “The Deceiver…

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  1. Those coat tails are pulling and so they should. They deserve to be listened to by your present focused writing self. You have a whole adulthood now to fall back on. Your early poems had desire and hope and assumption on their side; amalgamate (is that spelt correctly?) these with your wit, and newfound desire to fit it all in. Your wife may yet be proved wrong – you could yet have that blockbuster being penned.

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