Author: Matthew Gopsill

Where do failed sneezes actually go? Do they go up or travel down below? Passing through the stomach on way, To the nearest opening night or day,

The scent fills the air like a thick fog, Sunlight filters down to the ground, Particles gently float in and out of view, The spice surrounds as they pound,

I’m one of the most famous Counts of the area, I’m Known from Romania to far off Bavaria, Transylvania is where I call my true home, In my family’s castle corridors I usually roam,

No breath leaving, Oxygen depleting, Diaphragm seized, Last words wheezed,

What if we lived forever? Not growing old together, What if we stayed healthy? Elite athletes getting wealthy,

Droplets of sweat absorbed by a sodden shirt, Not evaporating in the dry pressing heat, The light scorches everything it lays it’s gaze on, In the arid world of a final penalty defeat.

Old white crumbling foam under black leather, Unashamedly peeking out of the years’ old rips, Surrounded by the whitewashed stuccoed walls, Darkened by recesses forgotten by the neon strips,

At the point of evaporation it happened, Nobody really knew quite why, Some magic words were said with purpose, Every single child started to cry.

Sunlight shafts through the sooty towers, Nourishing the grateful green grass, Noises float on the cool summer breeze, Over the wildlife corridor it’ll pass,

The fear is here, Of going to near, Relaxing the rules, But fear never dulls, Engrained in our mind, Touching human kind,