Autumnal Eyes

Stargazing cigarette ash, growing cold and greyer, shaping to a scale model Everest in a cut crystal tray; a mountain to be climbed by some quantity surveyor, or a podium of passiveness in cloudbursts of dismay. So the goalposts shift and arbitrarily blur this disenchanted evening of poetry stricken with slow motion; although older, but no wiser, as the host of echoes stir past beliefs in grim stagnation, drained of glister and devotion. I can taste the realisation of dysfunctional reality, that between this life and death love is but a compromise; in every mirrored surface to confront the actuality, the ever present deadlight hue of Autumn in my eyes.