The creep of
slow death is here
living among us
as companion constant
but no friend.
All around us it is,
swirling in the sameness of distance,
and present in the chill of air and soul,
and the boil of restless day.
No voice it has but the wind
and no body but the soil
barren and cracked with shame.
It is a thief that never gives back
but takes and ravishes all,
not by stealth but here now,
brazen and grinning
in front of our eyes.
19/8/2018