The Sickness

Softly now
you come
silent in the night.
You with your unrelenting past
full of beautiful tragic faces
that, one by one,
like leaves from a tree,
fall to the ground and wither.
I both loathed and feared you.
I saw with open eyes
how they tried to appease you
with their little white prayers.
But you had no time
for incantations.
You just painted your umbra upon them
turned them into shadow
and then slowly
like the drawing of a veil
You were gone.


Warren Griffiths is an unpublished writer who pens verse mostly as a personal creative outlet. His work tends to concentrate upon emotions and relationships both good and bad with inspiration drawn from personal experience and the tales told around the ‘gossip’ table. Sometimes sad, sometimes funny, human relationships are an endless source of inspiration for his work.