The Bastard & The Unseen

Well now she’s gone

perhaps to die

The bastard Me never paused to ask why

I walked away with all the rest

imagining my hidden best.

But fuck the writer and fuck the words

a flimsy shield

of flimsy verse

Because when I write I make myself

a better man or someone else.

But she can’t rhyme her life away

can’t write herself a better way

And all our eyes should be on her,

not we cowards who darkness defer.

Because she will live or she will die

and the bastard Me still didn’t ask why.

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