Poems

Succour

I always took you for succour

Don’t ask why

just help me

 

Like wine bleeding across a napkin

I splattered

But I am ever a dark red

thick, sour, wet

 

Like marbles strewn across paving stones

I scattered

colourful, childish, bright

 

Like old family photos wound up in second-hand bookshops

I tattered

noble, old and a bit tearful

 

This thing you call heart can’t be tidied like a purse

The mind can’t be rearranged like a room

That’s why I will say

just help me

don’t ask why

 

You I always took for succour​

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