I noticed cracks above my bed
I had forgotten long before.
Specks of darkness floated gracefully,
Tracing the muddy path.
Sullen streams slipping through
From dim, dingy depths.
A black oasis hoarding
The death of the past.
Tendrils reaching, almost touching.
Rotting wood, swollen with doubt.
A musty odour, silence, a bad taste.
A pale picture and dirt underfoot.
This poem was written by Exetera’s new Assistant Editor, Ed Alexander. Ed writes articles for 90min and poetry, which can be found at whatisinmyedhead.com.
Image credit: Stewart Black.