A Slow Start

A belt of stars across the sky
appears as suddenly as a life
as testament to a false belief
that rather than live we prefer to die
the light in my feet now gives way to night
and rolling clouds rumble in
as a sign of hope, and a silky sin

an old fool is no fool
if the old fool is old school
and a patch of a quilt stitched to a wall
fits not as a patch but answers a call
and given their patch in the skin of all
the question is not if patch makes whole


and the song 'he writes so incongruously'
is sung like a hymn, so religiously
in the manner of zealots
in the manner of false
and turned to by hopeless when failed by all else

and the first step is hardest, is longest, is worst
and followed by one, the another and three
and deep inspiration comes slow without haste
as if to say, 'no, i shan't be owned by thee'

and it gradually fades and it gradually ends
it slowly grows softer and beigely blends
and the deep dark soft morning on night still depends

and grammar is beaten and moulded, slept in
like a recalcitrant child on a friday, kept in

apparently women bow down to the wind.