The scars of the world
are often too much
that sometimes I forget to breathe.
Forget to watch
the kingfisher sunrises
forget my eyes to see.
Forget to breathe
the eyeless air
and pierce new age with thorn.
To tear my sight
from murderous hoardes
and live like the water born.
@ Steven Francis poems 2011
Slip the noose of dying and madness for a time and share some observations with Welsh poet Steven Francis in this, his 5th collection of poetry.
