Perhaps I could be accused of trying to solicit pathos. However, that was never my intention. I just like the image that it paints.
LET ME FAIL IN SUNSHINE.
© David Milligan-Croft
I was born for the sun.
To sit in creased, cream flannels,
Specks of red wine on a grubby white shirt,
Dusty feet, naked in espadrilles.
I could think in the sun.
Writing plays of heroes and lovers;
Perhaps my life story, (with an exaggeration or two),
Royalties and rights, money for jam.
I could dream in the sun.
A romance I made up, which lasted forever;
At home, she wore a floral dress, and carved words into paper,
Wherever that was.
I could fail in the sun.
Where tears of remorse dried in the mid-day haze;
Idle dreams floating like ice in a glass,
Slowly, slowly, slipping away.