I'm alive, Alice,
Poke me with a stick, I'm still moving
Oh pain
But my soul is sick in bed
And in my heart I am dead
My stone cold heart! withered, she died long ago
I'm hatred, twisted, a wolf in woollen disguise
But in my head i'm old as the dust that sleeps eternal on your mantlepiece
Respect thy elders
Leave me be
But rinse my aching feet and help me walk, when the time comes,
Help me to see you, put the light in my eyes
You died and were gone, my darling alice, but I am still waiting for our day.
YOU ARE READING
Unrelated... A series of weird and wonderful poems
PoetryA collection of the unusual and the very usual poetry, A collection, a series, A set which grows over time © P.H.Dyer, 2011-2012 All rights reserved Note: I have had issues with people using my work without authorisation, and so I've had to put thi...
