Confluence 

A World of Our Own by GJ Gillespie

once again
see it end
like a frost
holding fast
driven mad
by holy cloth

river flows
black and bitter
on it goes
awfully slow
till we fail
all to tell

lifted eyes
up to skies
away from here
silent fears
never near
farewell goodbye

better place
fit for feast
dust to dust
digesting grit
win the peace
just fall asleep

in deep shade
moss grows cold
scratch upon
the names in stone
where innocents play
unwelcome and betrayed





GJ Gillespie


January, 2018