<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Harmonies<\/strong><\/p>\n We don\u2019t listen to the music no more: People take it as hard, to see the flare But it is, what with all the craaawling of birdsong, nor the storms rippling laughter and clatter of life bursting all around. of Eden. We have become discordant.<\/p>\n <\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Nathan Lenthall<\/strong> is 25 and currently finishing off his last semester at university. He has had poetry published in Pastiche Magazine, Tellus Magazine and Turbulence Magazine. Once free of university he intends to spend his summer reading, training for a marathon and working on his writing.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Harmonies We don\u2019t listen to the music no more: the small sounds of the wind as it whispers through grass, or the well-deep silence of stars. People take it as hard, to see the flare of fire warming the glass in a morning. A new day shouldn\u2019t be too hard to bear. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-5002","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5002","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=5002"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5002\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5004,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5002\/revisions\/5004"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=5002"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=5002"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=5002"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nthe small sounds of the wind as it whispers
\nthrough grass, or the well-deep silence of stars.<\/p>\n
\nof fire warming the glass in a morning.
\nA new day shouldn\u2019t be too hard to bear.<\/p>\n
\nFrom pay-cheque-to-pay-cheque-to-pay-cheque-to
\ngrave. An it is grave; there ain\u2019t no hearing<\/p>\n
\nthat overflows and runs in blue waves down
\nthe roof and windows. We miss the patter<\/p>\n
\nWe don\u2019t notice, we don\u2019t see and we don\u2019t
\ntake part. We are shut out from the green ground<\/p>\n