The Old Tyburn
You hold it
You hold it against me still
Seeing me in that angry confusion
The belligerent footprints then followed
A missed line in darkness’s will.
I said
Many times for the end
You said you were poisoned
By my arbitrary mood
My polluted, dented friend.
Tell me my love is it easier to detest me
Than it is for you to accept?
We were the unmet romantics
That fell into a bleary oblivion
Where the final centrepiece was inept.
Every drop of liqueur pictures your face
I hang grey by the old Tyburn gaze
Smiling, humming with slashed wrists
Pleasantly daydreaming over memories
Behind the rowan berry yielded maze.
My sweet cancer, my talking little tumour
That I can’t live with but don’t want to detach
Our relationship, a halibut
In a blind herrings outfit
Yet I still remember it’s company’s latch.
© Daniel North
