The Fireside Poetry Series – Installment 1


It was autumn and I found marble.
Cold, smooth, lonely marble. It was grey.
And carved outside was the stoic face of
the man who could care less.
But this stoic man can always do better.
And marble, when it cracks,
it turns to magnet.
What a strange one too.
Small flickering lights in the dead of the night.
Isolation of the most wonderful, unbearable kind.
He’s the kind of smell that lingers in his own pillows.
Coconut, plain, woody musk.
But it’s his world that’s my draught to forget.
Who knew he was hurting still yet.
I listened to your problems
Now listen to mine.
I tell myself I’ll be alright when he’s fine.

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