Kirsty Semple

Muscular words fall through my hands,
Like the grains of sand of shifting time.
These words are mine, but they change,
And flow and disappear.

In ink and stone I chisel down:
Today, THIS…

Within the night absent of stars the hourglass still drains away.
Where, reliant upon the light, futile masks offer no hiding place.
But in reaching out to blindly touch we know we’re not…

The blue, vacant stare,
That kills the life alive,
Inside, like gentle suffocation,
Searches the faces of passers-by.