Three Crows Shadowing Your Indecision

… as you bleak the Crossroads,
in another stray direction.
Guided by an illogical impulse,
a deceitful compass point
urging you onwards,
into the butchered flesh
of evening’s shallow undertakings.
They are not ‘Markers’
nor ‘Standing Stones’
which you are jilting by…
But, ‘Warning Signs’
ignored and left to BOOM
unacknowledged.
That sharp gravel inside your boot
is the remnants
of a disintegrating conscience,
it’s only discomfort… que será, será.
You’ve chosen the barbed wire stile,
unthinkingly…
the brambled roadway,
which lays beyond,
drew you like a magnet,
whilst you were busy
forming police helmets
out of the licking, lashing shadows.
Past the Hill Of Contempt,
you stagger, beggar-blind to all,
but the tail you’re busy chasing.
Confusion sweeps and drifts
like April rain…
and there are twists of jail
and turmoil up ahead,
yet, you have yet to find an ounce
of decency worth backtracking for.

Paul Tristram is a widely published Welsh writer, who’s currently up to his elbows in Magic, and long may it remain this way. Read other articles by Paul, or visit Paul's website.