This morning I wrote a small poem on the train on the way to work. I may add it to my collection which I will be publishing on Amazon shortly.
Imprisoned; like a battered cod.
Bars on windows, frozen time.
The kettle boils, I hear it click
And yet my gaze is stuck on the grass or
The keys in locks that no longer turn.
The tea-bag flops into the cup
Deathly silence welcomes ears until
Stir the cup and rinse the bag
Then imagine walking through the wall
While sipping bitter, over-brewed fluid.