Beware the shadow by the corner dark,
For there he waits for seven reasons sour,
His wicked tongue hath limitless remark,
Whilst therein seeking whom he may devour.

Be sober and be vigilant thy kin,
Thy adversary waits beneath the pyre,
Then walks about as proud as the lion,
To drag thy wayward souls towards the fire.

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and spat it out

and for many years it crawled

before it learned to stand

where it said “I will make you now a fresh bowl,

from my family’s blood”

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No home, no job, just 12 good friends.

Betrayed by one who swore they never would.

Died too soon for pointless reasons.

What if God the NHS was one of us?

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Beneath The Watch Tower

I watch the man who sits below the oak,

his features twisted by the scars of time,

a body wrapped inside a velvet cloak

of moss, that wasn’t there back in his prime.

He played amid the gnawing granite teeth

that sprung from grassy gums of evergreen

and knew nothing of those who lay beneath,

but only those who, with him, danced ...

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