Us
The clock is ticking
Running down the time
As we run down our lives
The clock will stop one day
And so will we, we may
Look back on what we’ve done
We’ll look back and see
Just you and me, and we
Shall cherish all we done
My Words, My World
First drafts – A few pages in the large wilderness of the world of writing
Archive for the category “Micropoetry”
Winter
Old, tall silver-sided Sycamore tree
Silhouette against the grey winter sky
Leaves fallen, now gone
No sign your summer ever existed
In this cold December air
No sign my summer ever existed
Gone. Another year passing.
The longing for spring is already upon me
![IMG_0715[1]](https://christopherfarley.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/12/img_07151.jpg?w=538&h=718)
The Road
I wandered listless but restless.
I walked in the shadows, defenceless.
I wandered thinking, without knowing.
My soul in pain, my self-doubt growing.
I lost my way, though the way was marked.
So I waited at the crossroads, wishing I’d asked
What do I do? How? What shall I give?
To find the way home; distant, elusive.
Empty
I’m not a poet, and I rarely rhyme but today is different.
______________________________________________
A harsh word slipped and fell today
Between two friends
No further words exchanged this day
No way to make amends
I hoped to catch a glance or maybe
The return of a friendly smile
Instead my day empty remained
My evening too, defiled
Forgive
I walked over the broken earth
of a broken life
I swam through the stream clear,
a stream of tears
I fell twisted and scarred
into your arms, once again.
I
Under a yellow, sickening sky did I
Come from above, where once I
Led a strong legion, all powerful but I
Wanted more, much more so I
Employed temptation, persuasion for I
Used a woman to get at man and I
Have been ever present , beside you, I
Wanted followers too, however I
Misjudged your faith, I misjudged you.
Green
Green; the leaves on the trees no longer fresh from spring.
Spring, now past. The grass beneath my bare feet in the morning dew.
Dew; a million tiny drops of water, my feet wet and cool in the morning.
Dawning, the sun is rising, to evaporate the dew. Grass turns brown.
Whereabouts
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My Words, My World 