The drifts of that new bleakness
dispersed, as each person standing
within a mile radius seemed static.
As we both continued to walk,
your hand like an unprotected flame.
That constant glow of your room;
furniture perfectly placed like a
garden incapable of over growing.
That wry smile that flowed over
each morning like a sand soiled wave.
Those nuances that finally slip that
uneven breeze, that collapsed under
this enforced weight; a gamble over
age and freedom, that finally lost out
to reason and the sense we both had.
That final clash, which opens this cocoon,
and allowed movement again for those
left standing, and reset that perpetual
tunnel where you now stand, as only
a flicker of light, too dim to decipher anymore.
Jonathan Butcher has had work appear in various publications both online and in print including: Outlaw Poetry, Drunk Monkeys, Picaroon Poetry, Popshot, The Transnational, The Morning Star, Mad Swirl, Ink,Sweat&Tears, Plastic Futures and others. His second chapbook 'Broken Slates' was published by Flutter Press. He lives in Sheffield, England.