Corners. Poem by Peter Vealey

Was slumbering on
The rhythm of a sweet book.
Un-mellow on a summer evening.
As one man can be.
Searching restless the racing sorrow
Of my mind.
For the corners of my life.
Had a shiver and sigh.
Sever my brow,
Of dark childhood winters.
So exciting, intense fearing.
Yet somehow always ending the day.
In inevitable monotonous bliss.
So far away and immobile,
In the further end
Of an ageing youth 'gone' era.
That corners are where they remain.
Liken to the great stone of time.