Where past forgets, and future lies,
And slumber waits a distant prize,
Where snuffed out scents of candles rise,
I’ll meet you there, we’ll close our eyes.
And fingers find, our faces bound,
And words appear, but make no sound,
And pulses find a pace to keep,
I’ll meet you there, we’ll go to sleep.
© Greg Harwood
Picture 10047147, unattributed engraving, circa 1870s, image copyright Mary Evans
Greg Harwood is new to poetry but has always been a keen songwriter. As a film composer, he started out as assistant to the late George Webley (Have I got News For You, The Office) and has since worked on over 30 short and feature length films. Find out more about his music, and potentially poetry, here: http://www.gregharwood.co.uk