Dear Poet, this poem is a brutal, metallic self-imprisonment. The rusted gallows, the echoing anvil, the cold, pressing imagery – I can feel the inescapable weight of existence in every line. Even the aftershave lingers

Thank you. It’s all fiction. I write 90% fiction.

That’s frikin awesome ⭐

Powerfully penned, Keith. This write has layers my friend. Appreciate you.

Damian

It reads like a song. I enjoy the lyrical quality and the way the rhyme and cadence propel the reader through this brutal inventory of sickness and despair. It has the perfect structure for a darkly beautiful rock ballad.

This is brilliant, dear Keith – the imagery, the use of opposites and the meaningful words! The end of September is the beginning of a new and pretty dark season. Yes it is all letting go, decay and death. But nature shows us how to die with dignity and grace. Birth and death belong to the same circle of life. Hope guides us through the valley of shadows until we reach the light again.

I love nursery rhymes. Waiting for more!