Another one from the archives, this one written some time after the death of my grandfather which would put me at about 16 at the time i think.  

When the sky is dark, and the wind is cold,

And the rain comes down, fold on fold,

Remember us.  The silent ones

In the numbness of the Earths tight hold.

You cannot see us, or hear us talk,

But right beside you we will walk.

We...

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I am but the mottled bark
of a tree once firmly rooted,
peeled from its stately trunk

and within my hollow carapace
echoes an inert drumbeat
that keeps the cadence for
a march of ornate trappings

soon and sooner still, one day
this crepuscular orphelin song
resonant in its languid longing
shall surge with the rising tide

the sound of its condescencion
as i...

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