Monday Poem: A World Grown Strange


A World Grown Strange

It is like the aftermath of illness;
a slow recovering of how to live.
The artful secrets of breathing,
the possibility of movement.

A return to a world grown strange,
just beyond the reach of feeble fingers,
which takes time and twists it through visions
that haunt the dreams of waking.

And the awoken world seems les than a dream
almost there and almost gone.
Evading the grasp and losing sense
of what comes before and what comes after.

As though it is making it all up
and telling tales to the one that lies
watching for life to begin again.

Published by David Hadley

A Bloke. Occasionally points at ducks.

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