STONES IN THE POND

When once I larked
Kicking a football
In the park,
My life has now turned
To just throwing stones
And
Shattering the stillness of the pond.
There's a greyness now
And stress creasing
A furrowed brow,
Hair once blonde
Just throwing stones
And how;
Shattering the stillness of the pond.
For years the denial
And young minds
To defile,
The tongue became barbed
Wicked edge like a nettles frond
With me
Shattering the stillness of the pond.
What comes next?
Shuffling along
Can't stay vexed,
Hands in pockets deep
A need to abscond
Away from the hurling
Of stones into the pond.
Life has taken me
From the front seats
To a place in the dark,
With death I have a bond
The flint of youth
Offers now just a feeble spark
A faint ripple on the pond.
So, today I take pleasure
Painting the canvas of my past
A masterpiece, a treasure
This is my mortal song,
I sit looking into the ponds depths
The stones representing breaths
To waste them would be wrong.

Phil Hall  April 2014