As a character trapped in a story half-heard
a player in a plot so far untold;
he moves through unrehearsed scenes.
Running across storm-strewn grass,
he scrabbles through autumn leaves at the foot of the tree,
searching for snowdrops in October,
expecting some reassurance.
He clings on to slightest hints of a different future,
a half-smile, a hope glimpsed, his name heard.
Expectations fade
in a cold, grey light.
Stretching out to grasp an opportunity,
his fingers almost touch
something tangible that slips way.
Behind, always the shadow is lurking
the dark cloud that threatens to engulf him.