Tuesday, 14 January 2014

behind the cassava stall


glazingly staring into oblivion,

the glazed windows to the soul.

now reduced to a lantern,

those eyes that once held hope.

this quiet, lifeless, idyll, ghost town

replaces ambitions with raw survival.

Ridicules world view and wears down

sanguine bright-eyed lads

To melancholic tunnel-visioned hags.

behind the cassava stall,

staring zombie-eyed into oblivion

is a once feisty spirit forced to conform.

Some dreams  don’t matter.

They can be murdered or still-born

To give fighting chance to another.