Christopher Withers Poems
vision stunted by past deeds
leading to my current place,
childhood face: disconnected,
now adrift on stagnant lake.
cynicism scrawls the map
leading to my resting place,
a symptom of a drying mind,
what once was fluid, now is blind.
each denial of childhood dream
fractures now my world it seems.
mothers tears dried in her grave,
childhood view: never saved.
Our world is measured in childhood grace,
Future states, as yet unfolded,
Birth the words, that claim and hold us.
Cold consumer, of the void:
Time, it strips our nous and voice,
Memories fail and slowly rust,
Our universe, it falls to dust.