Nick Drake

Shadows of amitriptyline
drift on the waters grey
behind the sun.
It's dead today
again,

and the fog radiates a voice
somewhere among things like trees
or people, standing stones,
that echo unthought thoughts
about being alone
forever.

Sometimes there is no hope.

I float through fields
of autumn corn
heavy with the dust of dusk
and falling feathers,
heavy with the bells of dew
sweet, like the first star,
like the last ring on the pool
as it collapses to return
distorted, a gift
for our dreams.

The rain tastes of angels
that comfort as they play
behind a sun of silver
and a rose moon of zen;
they're dead today
again.
They're dead today
again.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.