Thoughts That Thwart My Sleep
Poem By Max Gatrell
Anon the leaves shall line the floor,
A mottle of uncertainty.
Nearer to winter it seems I am,
Farewell to happy seasons.
Shamed by my past, in equal mete,
I’m fearful of the future,
In repetition of contrition,
Upon the cusp I sit.
Keen to press the pause on time,
I tried this once before.
But then the saplings came of age,
To dominate the garden.
So now I’m just a refugee,
Of a dying generation.
Vicissitude I can’t prevent,
So I’ll evolve in spite of change.
And not therefore be left behind,
On guard I stay, again awake,
Nightly visuals I undertake.
For no presage will I receive
These thoughts that thwart my sleep.