The name Tornheart just seems to fit these days.A character you’ve become;
drawn in charcoal
for a graphic novella.
the weight of unfulfilled promises and
crushing unfairness of life,
hunting like hyenas in cowardly packs.
The peculiar British embarrassment
at the discovery you’re human,
the stiff upper lip never did hide tears
and also being British, I will pretend I didn’t see them.
There is no secret of the ancients,
no translated truth or
divine coded message
ready to bring enlightenment but understand this;
wisdom already known is still wisdom and
hope is not hidden from you,
in everyday livery.
A friend’s call,
coffee just the way you like it,
fingers of light shaking hands with the dawn,
the silent body language of hugs.
The tiny triumphs of life,
pinpricks of optimism that divide and grow,
divide and grow not moving mountains
but helping you think laterally,
find ways over, through and around.
will make friends with colour;
start to sketch a brighter ending.