Sitting on that chair with two arms
So prophetic
through its palms
Supporting my
body but not my mind
As it slips
away into the unkind
Thoughts
flavoured with agonising anguish
Innocent but
apparently churlish
Concepts of
gut-wrenching power
Ideas that
take hope and devour
An empty room
filled with people
A lone church
with no steeple
One body
fills not half the bed
No place of
trust to rest my head
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