The lives of others

What good is your life, if you’ve been told it’s not yours?

That you need to follow somebody else’s; someone

with a shinier mask than yours – home


trophy wife


The storm that rages and decimates calm shores

doesn’t follow another one, but you do.

With all your sanity, you drift into the road much trodden

where the grasses

have forgotten to grow. The uninspiring throne

is your bed. You don’t lust

after women, men – you are

raised to lust after a bucket list.

Your legacy is yours, like the crow’s nest cuckoo’s, and

the circus a joker’s.

The river meanders along paths unknown the first time it

jumps from a mountain. Thousand years later, the waters turn grey.

Souls turn grey too, only there aren’t enough eyes

to realize.