Poems of Jack Growden
|4.||Beneath One Sky||10/17/2013|
|6.||Born Years Too Late||4/10/2014|
|8.||Brelles - French Version||7/27/2013|
|10.||Clearer In My Dreams -new-||7/15/2014|
|12.||Down By Mavers Hill||7/27/2013|
|13.||Driftwood at Sunset||10/15/2013|
|15.||Escaping Port Arthur||10/16/2013|
|16.||Eulogy For Youth||1/11/2014|
|19.||Fall From Grace||3/27/2014|
When the clocks did chime for the eleventh hour
Well after the Sun had completed its fall,
The darkest of Whitechapel's darkest,
Staggered from an alley, in a hunched-over crawl.
With nary a moon to behold, light was scarce,
And t'was a lamppost that brought him into view.
Such a haggard mess he was indeed,
His teeth a bare yellow few.
A matted mane sat upon his face,