Some seize on death,
Just as they seized on a siblings' toy,
They want it for themselves.
No one else should possess it;
It must be about them
And the validating sympathy that it elicits.
    
But, ultimately, which is sadder?
The death itself?
Or...
The looting of grief?

My poor nest I must address:
Fed up with poor nights' sleep,
Ending up, ironically, with crow's feet
It's not ideal in mating season
I'll demolish this nest for that reason.

An unorthopaedic mess of a nest
Is my rickety pokey ***** bed.
However, one solution in the offing:
A mail order memory foam mattress
That I could return before migration.

A hundred ***** dusty bleary-eyed windows open
As a deadly-dull town awakens
Unready and unwilling to take on another new day.
Each indolent inhabitant wishing away each minute, hour and day
Banishing any boy or girl who talks of "getting away".
Yes, a sad sullen town of little ambition,
Happy in its unhappiness,
Disembarks on another week
Allowing the woeful wintry weather to dictate its motivation
Glory be then, the rain that seems to fall perpetually
On the unglistening slate-grey slated roofs
That keep out the rain
But not the season's strong sickly grip.
To end at the ending?
Yes, let's,
This town is life's last stop
The end of a long long line
A lovely place to relax and whine.

Sat alone in my car
High above the forest line,
My Sat Nav tells me:
"Make a U-Turn when possible"
(Funny how a soulless voice
Can give the perfect advice).

I feel so far from home:
I'm a cheap Chinese lantern
Drifting on the merest wind.
Am I near my destination?
I do not know...
Which way did the wind blow?

Visual heaven,
Swirls all above me,
Moons and stars whisked into one.
Who is stirring the night sky
Whilst I battle on?

Chaos both high and low,
Danger here on the ground
Serene safety high above.
A contrast not lost on me.
Do I battle on?

An inviting heavenly white
A ****** red stained green
An ache in my chest
My senses fading.
Is this death I feel?