Blog Archive

Friday, 20 September 2013


The reader lifts the book,
‘What page were we on?’
The woman hears the flick of pages,
In her ears, the reader’s voice rises.
Beyond the window,
The blue black dome of sky
Pin-pricked with a thousand lights
Closes around the day.
The woman dreams;
Dreams of yesterday’s passion;
Dreams full of meaning;
Dreams without end.
She smiles.
She was once fair.
She was once young.
Once her eyes looked forward,
Full of hope.
Now she listens.
Only hears a monotone;
Meaningless, compulsory
And she dreams.
The reader’s eyeballs roll
And he closes the book.

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