It wasn’t a matter Of life and death, It was much more Important than that. Time is an old, tired Looking creature But She appreciates the wait; Enduring those sad months When it seems everything is Broken.


No sun, no light, no gold- No colour except black And the unclouded mould Of sky; plain, thin, old, Marbled with glassy droplets; Crystals unfold, But I remain empty, transparent, Nothing, so cold, My life a soul already sold.