HOLIDAYS

Days left without compass
The up strangely... down
The smiles all too strange now
All friend found in frown

Where washing and dressing
are pleasantries lost
The light of day toxic, to be
killed at all cost

Where silence is golden for
Really...who cares...about
The bore in the doorway who
sits on the stairs
Not I and not you
For life must be lived
And loss must be bourne like
some twisted great gift

While theologists rage about
all known unknowns, just
Find one god who suits, just
Rejoice to find home, and

Really...who cares...
Not I, nor should you, for
Life must be lived, strength be
found, breath pulled through

While silence sings golden, is
all there is left
The soft whispered mumblings
Of a unheard cold breath 

M P 24/2/21