At times, old insecurities come to the fore, hand in hand with wistful memories of past lovers, loss, death and grief. At other times, I have bitter quarrels with God late into the night about sin, redemption and child-death; and when solace will not come, in despair, I run for shelter to life's true confessional—poetry.
Tuesday, 29 September 2015
Primrose Hill - a poem by Chris Zachariou
Primrose Hill
Dusk is falling on the hill and sensual shadows dance with shards of mellow light.
A prudent day surrenders to a playful night and lovers on wings of dreams embrace on park benches.
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