…
Two days of hard blown snow fall,
mountain roads are blocked now,
it’s two days since your long phone call,
but without the help of a snow plough,
I’m unable to keep my promise.
…
Today I walked down from the hills,
waded through drifts of deep snow,
to reach the chemists for the pills,
but everywhere I went was closed,
I found it hard to avoid or dismiss,
…
Your loneliness — the sadness of your grief.
It was the first time you’d spoken,
of being in this world without the belief,
of being a healer and in touch with the broken,
spirits of the dead, perhaps a false genesis.
…
I heard your words of shame and remorse,
after the latest chemical imbalance of your brain,
stranded you in a nightmare with no recourse,
the fear of voices, that constant refrain,
repeated, over and over again, of your disgrace.
