Posted: May 16, 2016 in Uncategorized

have I been
The wanderer.
I hang in equilibrium
Between hotel rooms
And double-deckers
On the road to nowhere.

The load I bear-
To hate what I do to do what I love.
And from time to time, my knees buckle
My feet stall and stumble
And I need the weight of your hand on mine.
When the small hours rouse me from my dreams
I feel your arms fold round my shoulders
And I am safe.

I buried my head in
My chemical breakdown
But you held me
Swore to me
The scars you embraced
Will be
the making of me yet.

Drowning out the static
Of the crash of the waves
And the sea’s chilling roar
We sketch out
Our story map of the city
Marking the ruins of memories
From decades long past.
Trawling the crack dens for still-frames
We could call our own
Here we are safe
We are wild
We are free.
Shall we be the wanderers
You and I-
We make our own luck.

Copyright Natasha Helen Crudden 2016


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