Alex of all the days by Mock I. Alex, of all the days, These days are sweet With shadows, wrought with smoke And satisfaction, thick upon our tongue. In memory, this time will linger, Lips of snow, the kiss of frost, And laughter, lazy, satiated, Revelling in what you've lost, Counting fragments in the snow And coldly noting what it cost. Alex, of all the time, This time your smile Has faltered, trembled, brittle, Shattered in the waiting for new breath. In memory, these days are written, Ice and blood, sketched in sand: Wars, won and lost and lost and lost!— Couldn't win with just one hand!— Losing blood, and love, and life When all has fallen, just as planned. mockery@the-rookery.org.uk

A poem gifted to the August Birthdays on RatB, and also dedicated to Jitw (g). Is this something that people would really want dedicated to them? Er... Off the cuff, I'm afraid, and the thoughts behind this might require a bit of explanation (bugger!): not sure whether it warrants it. If you want me to, I can—just ask. M/K (sort of). Post-colonisation thoughts. Implied character deaths... Not generally a nice poem... You have been warned... [Stories by Author] [Stories by Title] [Mailing List] [Krycek/Skinner] [Links] [Submissions] [Home]