There is so much poetry in the house
that nothing ever gets done anymore.
I simply watch this room with scribbles all over it:
the shiny floors reflect the open sky
the music has stopped
the dust has settled on all our books.
It is like snow to me but you
stand up soldier when talking and
ask that I go to bed early and
switch the lights off.
The war does not scare me any longer
just the fact that I am
of no consequence to you.
The only way I can speak now
is by keeping an absolute silence.
Poem published today in ‘Stride’ magazine.