when you think it can’t get worse, it does. 
You stop and look around
and see your life is a broken 
pile of bones around 
your cracked, tired feet 
and you cry. 

Then one day 
you realise all your little hopes 
and fragile dreams are but mosaics made from broken 
egg shells and you marvel 
at this creative 
order out of chaos.

But it still doesn’t give your health back into your own hands
or stop the pressures arising 
out of not earning the chinking coins which run through your fingers like salt……
Nor does it stop your 
child and grandchildren from complete collapse in the face of destitution and destruction. 
No. No it doesn’t…. 
And it is not ok, not anymore. 
The shell shock is too great
and the eggs have run out .

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