One to watch…
Astronauts and firemen,
He picks at dreams and plays.
Ageing steals his oxygen,
Until his dreams turn grey.
Smooth skin with a bubbling grin,
He sleeps to father’s voice.
Shaving scabs and drunk kebabs,
A booming, looming choice.
A woodland path that moves so fast,
The trees grow as he floats.
Floating on, trees bar the past,
A bubble blocks his throat.
Tumbling through the leaves he grasps
and desperately clings.
The lack of air it makes him gasp,
If only he had wings.
The branches slowly drag him down,
Until his feet are stuck on ground.
A poem of a boy began,
Blink for too long, the boy’s a man.
– Max Miller