Thursday, September 17, 2020


My minds a vacant playground 

And some strange thoughts rise
Like indolent tendrils of smog
On a steady ascent up the skies
While the chimneys stand aloof
But for their momentary yawns
On a cold winter morn
And these thoughts fall back
In a couple of varying volleys
That I see my sleep recede
Far across the yonder vales
Of quietude and total oblivion
Try as I may, I can barely
Shrug off these leaden thoughts
Laden with this, that and what not
I dream of opium now
And wish to grow soporific
At least for a moment
Before the imminent dawn

PS: 30/05/2020

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A Slice of Goulburn