SAD SHAPES

Looking ahead I can make out sad shapes -

Demented potters’ mud-mould mockery,

Tumbling into darkness’ unbounded time,

Edgy and sharp like shattered crockery.

I see them best when my heart breaks open

And bleeds along the lines of knifepoint scars.

It is as if the blood that fuels my sight

Surges and bids me gaze on sleaze bazaars.

There were years when the lights I saw ahead

Dazzled and shone with love and faith and hope;

Now not even the greatest of these three

Safeguards my soul from sickness’ deathly slope.

And so I stare wide-eyed and tread the scree,

Feeling my feet slide out from under me.