I live in Scunthorpe, quite a deprived little town, and the town centre is almost derelict as there are so many empty shops! I wrote this poem after a walk around town yesterday. Most video content is my own.
Your hand in my hand Like a reticent child putting on Winter mittens Made of old, weathered parchment. Sitting here Dying here In this soulless intensive care department As the sorrow cries And tears so hot they’re dry And fragile remnants of hope die And like a bird I want to fly Far away FromContinue reading “The Last Moment”