Contributor: Paul Tristram

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This day it belongs to no one
this evening’s night the same.
Only when you are happy
can you claim that life’s a game.
I only own what is inside me
the rest merely gets in the way.
Flowers, sunsets and peacocks
now all seem the very same grey.
We all dance to our differences
we each struggle to survive.
We try to better everything else
it’s what keeps us all alive.
But is it all really worth it
I often ask my troubled self?
Would it not simply be better
to jump off society’s shelf?
There is nothing to believe in
there is no waiting tranquillity.
Look at the sky, there’s nothing
just take a look you will see.


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Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories and sketches published in many publications around the world, he yearns to tattoo porcelain bridesmaids instead of digging empty graves for innocence at midnight, this too may pass, yet.