Fickle fates were playing games
with avarice the prize; one only
had to rise for bait they dangled
sweet as candy innuendo pasted
dreams – with diligence I tried to
visualise what it implied, a solid-
wall embrasure plan with lavish
views of the outside
Their future was the past in gaudy
dress, lies the same expressed as
cutting rhetoric bereft of logical
debate – I should have seen a prize
restored to life by patient hand and
not a grain of dingy sand
© 29 June 2011, I. D. Carswell
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