These Days.

These days are a vivid purple

Each one merges into the other

Restless times in simmering thought

With no crisp edges, blurred and intense.

Every morning I awake

My head stinks of yesterday

Cluttered memory’s fall from my dreams

And perform like actors in a play.

The hours are eternal

And the evenings are always ablaze

Faces wear masks in the darkness

Everyone’s out of control

And yet no one says a word.

I can't hear the cries of the future

In my dreams I stand in the road

Transfixed by my fears that thunder

In the distance

Ever closing

The seventh wave is always the biggest.

Poem by Simon Kossoff, 1991.