Slipping On A-Murkily Poem by Heath Gunn

I’m slipping, slowly slipping,
Towards a life filled with despair.
Where a thousand memories gather round,
And I don’t even care.
Neither an image nor a miracle,
Of times which now have passed.
Can break through the cloud gathering,
On this misty looking glass.

For it’s swirling down it’s swirling,
To the jaded, hollow past.
Where flightless birds stand awestruck,
And no sails are tied to masts.
There’s a heaviness a-coming,
A tiredness of heart.
Where all men shall be an island,
And great minds will think apart