Poetic Injustices Poem by Mark Heathcote

Poetic injustices now you're leaving
Autumn leaves are gathering
Now head heart and arms are heavy,
But honestly, there's no golden charm.

I slept I cried myself distantly away
I drank from the valley of sorrow
And despaired that tomorrow—
Sunshine might never-come-again my way.

I took whisky to mellow my gloom
Drank it like cold tea, every day,
And snored hollow like panpipes
I listened to old notes longing to stay.

Every flavour is bitter-frozen as winter
Oh, how now tears clench my insides
Dry like a desert with abandoned space
Where nothing-verdant living resides.