Puttied Panes
Puttied Panes
Puttied panes, encased in pink-primed steel
Watch tiny rivers wend their downward way,
While puddles form where thin green spikes reveal
A just sown lawn, where one day I may play.
New houses; salmon bricked, like some great quilt.
Stark line posts, straight as soldiers, stand erect,
All razor edged, where blood may soon be spilt
In play; and then, through life, I’ll yet reflect
Those nightmares, wrought from childhoods fragile dreams
That circumstance, in one swift move, has made.
A jagged hole lays bare the fragile seams
Of security; a mornings sun filled glade.
Another day, another shower of rain,
Distorts the past and waters down the pain.
Copyright © Tim Riding | Year Posted 2020
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