Lone Night, Nothing

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Lone Night

Alone on a bench I sit here and write

As skies high above me, flee fast from the light

Blues fades to amber, then orange, I lament

Then gray and then black as sunlight is spent

October breezes lay kisses on skin

Leaves of November still cling, until then

The dark empty theatre will soon come to life

With actor and bard and patron alike

Doves roost in top branches, bats flutter out

Owls perch in steeples, the young mill about

Children and mothers with aunties and kin

Awaiting the moment, the play too begin

As dusk settles in to begin a new night

I know come the morrow, alone I’ll still write

For to some God gave wisdom to others insight

To most a great love, to me a lone night

© Tim Wilkinson & Wayne Wilks 2010


Forty-eight walking into time

Stepping into forty-nine

Still doing nothing but dying

Lungs are failing

Bones are ailing

Feeling nothing but pain

Beds mostly empty

No one to see me

Drinking nothing but wine

Sleep isn’t come easy

Dreams make me queasy

Holding nothing that’s pleasing

Living in need

Thriving on greed

Smoking nothing but weed

Forty-eight stumbling through life

Stepping into 49

Still loving nothing…

But time.

© Tim Wilkinson/Wayne Wilks 2008


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