Heart's Ease

These death masks hung above my bed

as boy, untired, but clocked upstairs,

There always shades, those ghosts portrayed,

this shade replacing former frills.

Who owns this deep-eyed staring face,

as if hung-over, blushed with bruise,

for shame these blooming hanging heads?

No heart’s ease, drift beneath their gaze -

the day’s too short as turn to sleep,

but gently swaying in the draught,

car headlights eerie ceiling play,

as cold chill slithers down my spine.

So where the calm medicinal,

supposed sooth healing properties?

In haze of doze, blurred images,

half-seen as if through frosted blear,

shapes mangled in my mingled tears,

low-lie life downing to drowse lids,

awaiting moment of the pounce.

Violas, charming, it is said;

mine violent, as charms spelled out.