collin

in this solitude I stand
my father, lying beneath the earth
whispering of what is unseen
but yet to come

the oceans are my sword,
eternity my song,
hell my only master.

long before my running
turned to walking.

My closet is full, yours bare,
yet you can bring a smile
with little more than gentle voice

There’s no truth in advertising you know.
I went to therapy to find out where I was going
and all my therapist wanted to talk about was
where I had been

my father writing words I never read

could I but shape the sound of nothing

coming across the gentle water like a rock