HOLLOW HALLS

  She drags tired heels across a tainted floor, poise slightly bowed and her back is sore. She holds on her face a cold marble stare, a hard life engraved upon cheeks once so fair.   Her faulting movements, once graceful; divine, her aching limbs now with guile, defy her final performance on this dark empty…

BRAVE FACE

  How brave, in reality, is a ‘brave face’? A facade shared, it would seem, by the majority of the human race.   Beneath the flakes of a painted mask lies a truth too long and painful to explain no matter how oft you care to ask.   How long before the cracks become too…

CASTAWAY

Music and words are where I reside, the solace of their sanctuary with walls, behind which, to hide.   But whenever I now sing those melodious old songs, salty tears are all I find where the words used to belong.   It’s hard to break into a favourite composition, when upon your lips lies a…