A Broken version

These roots, once wrapped up in cotton.
Fade and break to a summer forgotten.
They twist and scorn in a marauders bed.
Feasting on lies within that head.
And wake tomorrow black and rotten.

02/03/202211/02/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: dark, death, fearsTags: age, art, bed, black, death, dementia, end, forgotten, haunt, light, man, mental health, Old, poem, Poetry, roots, rotten, summer 1 Comment