wwxThe Awkward Squad ww wwwwPoetry by Eddie Castellan



wToy planes, grown men ww7 July 2010

I am struggling with death
I do not think it belongs to me,
I miss its breath on my cheek
and cannot tell whether it is
narcotic, hypnotic or merely
acrid: it seems as lost to me
as grown men with toy planes
pressing buttons.
What is this state which plants
morbidly in other soils?
I cannot tell this grain apart
from other rarer species.
I do not know grief and have
only found its shadow among
the living, lost to me


All poems and other texts on this site are the copyright of Richard Edward Hugh Castellan 2009