The Dawn of a New Age – Vincent Edward Manda

That night we drank

As though the dawn

Would bring not the sun,

But a perpetual silence

Broken not even by the

Quiet mourning of birds

That wished to weep

But knew not what

They had lost.


In truth, our drinking

Was a silent affair

Punctuated only by the cracking sounds

Of opening cans

And lighters to cigarettes.


The four of us

Sat around the table together

Breathing each other’s air

And looking into each other’s eyes,

Yet were alone and lost

In our thoughts;

Unsure as to what

The morning would bring.


his name rhymes with ‘mince’. He’s rarely without a notebook and can usually be found next to the closest bottle of red wine. Previously a writer for The Roehampton Lane Journal.

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