A poem inspired by a green toenail

Unseen yet not quite out of sight

Burning Shapes creep nearer and nearer to me

Heavy and black, yet if I reach to touch

They would whizz and whisper away

Melting to wait in the wings.

Thoughts too many

There is not enough to learn

There are no answers and no room for all the answers

Walking, treading, beating, plodding,

But stop and see,

Wait for the moment when a hand reaches through the wall that you know

And grabs you.

Your feet are the wrong size for you,

They are walking the wrong stepping stones

And amble their blind life on a path set out for them,

While you are yearning behind you,

Through the flickering visions

To find that hole in the wall again,

And slip back through,

Onto a path where your feet skip lightly,

And no-one has trod before.

Where songs are sung for the first time,

And there’s fresh light to see

A different way.

On the wall, a pea-green slime,

Sparkles (sinister) like a rotting toenail

On a weary foot.

The older you become, the harder your eyes strain to see it,

And you wonder if it was ever there at all.

And the wall is lined with worthless treasure trinkets to sparkle

And glimmer your hopeful eyes

Away from the slime

That would lead you away from here

And slip you away.