“Clutched tightly by his adoring father, the fair-haired blue-eyed toddler was the picture of innocence”
Choices driven by hate, or driven by ignorance, choices are made.
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I.
Tussocks:
the moor’s repine, fields wide,
these sinewy growths
are cairns or markers,
but of what?
The tree stands, alone
Naked in the dark
The courtyard is silent now
Lies of past glory whisper through the branches
- which are breaking -
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These hands are not his hands,
they are my hands.
But sometimes in my mind they are his hands,
and other times they are not hands at all,
they are claws.
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These are the secrets I cannot keep:
How she bends over the world to plant a goodnight’s kiss,
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