One of his poems from his book.


THIS YEAR’S BLACKNESS

I sit here like many condemned to this illness,
What I hadn’t banked on was all the stillness.

After thirty-two years of row and noise,
I no longer feel like one of the boys.

Sitting in darkness the mind drifts away,
Suffering from years of mental decay.

Knowing tomorrow I’ll feel just the same,
I’m slipping, but slowly, I’m going insane.

Neil Walton
13/9/99