By standing stone
Deeply inscribed
I place my hand
Upon its side
Feeling something,
Somehow died
Not corporeal
But deep inside.

Emptiness gnawing.

The monster which
Haunted my night
Crept out from depths
Of dark delight
Below the bed
In shadow hides
Today he follows
Close by my side.

Wind blows cold against my skin.

Why did I come
Here where I dread
I force myself
To read the dead
To whip myself
And feel the pain
To live each moment
Once again.

The monster whispers.

“You are nothing,
Never were.”
I face the truth
In what is heard.
For I am nothing
If I dwell
On what is past
And live in hell.

A pigeon with club foot
Patrols purposefully
Between the feet
Of weary travellers
Unaware of his deformity
Or how his presence amuses
And bemuses.

He flutters up
Scaring squeals
From a seated seniorita,
Perches parrot like
Upon the departures board;
This room his world
And he its master.