This World.

Grasping my face,
Tight between my tips,
Eyes piercing hot,
Thinking about this world,
Which is not mine,
Not mine to control,
Not mine to demolish,
Not mine to rule.

Bits and Pieces. Coppers and Silver.

We squander through the change,
Me and my mother,
We've nearly found some money,
Worthy of spending,
I pass her a twenty pence piece,
It adds up to fifty.

Just the other day,
I found her crying,
Father at work,
Mother drowning,
She squandered on,
Through her change.

I sat playing,
Writing and looking,
Heard the click of the door,
So I went running,
Mother stepped in,
Empty handed.