02 June 2014

Worst Fears


It doesn’t seem like a brick wall but I 
now suppose these eyes don’t know 
how to view something more subtle - 
in idyllic days of earlier maturity our 
wonderment was such fresh feasts 
of intrigue, time the only thief, & we 
didn’t need bell and whistle to tell it - 
there were hollow logs to hide in 

Today I’m enlightened supposedly, 
enough to know its a brick wall, tap 
it with your walking stick; see, it isn’t 
hollow. Dead give-away. For some I 
moan, it wasn’t there until your tap 
echoed all of those worst fears 

© 23 April 2014, I. D. Carswell