The Moments Between

There's a chair in the middle of the room,

It presses against carpet with four thin legs

and is stuck rigid

forced to endure.

It's master gives no promise

that it will be relieved of it's duty,

the wooden frame groans

as decaying muscle waits.

Brown jacket sits on an unfamiliar lap.

Naked pockets inside lay thin and sick

as the material weeps over knees

and waits.

Foreign hands curl gently and lame;

they fall loose, then rise

as jacket smothers hair and face

and becomes engulfed

in a smell that stains the fabric

from the outside.

Gentle Fade

You are neither day nor night

Dawn, dusk, dark or light.

You are neither sound nor song,

Nor is there any shade so strong

That could define you, dear friend.

You who have gone so long

Without a word

Without a whisper

A suggestion

A glance

A single drop of something,

Anything

That reveals your existence. 

 

Yet you cause the wind to blow away.

You dare the shadows to lie beneath your feet and tired eyes.

You whistle, you hum,

You throw a stake at the nothingness

When you feel anger you shout

But the shout comes in a wave of thunder

Bursting, burning,

That hate you let out

It twists and turns

And it is no longer a shout

But a single phrase

You say to another ear

But mine.

Slave

Body stands naked and hungry
while drops of white rain fall cold
and the wind whips a mighty sting
as fated is the Slave
to watch others behold.
A beaded necklace pressed against dry lips
sits around neck, sore and burning.
Constant eyes keep on staring,
the flame flickers under bold banner.

And as the bells ring

And the cotton sales begin,

Lonely April does sing

Winter in May.

Whisper

Ah, there they begin again.

Twists of air

Fading in, fading out

Amoré

I want to share this moment's warmth

And sing it's softness with a breath so sweet,

that it would curl around you and hold you tight.

If only I could reach those strings and play those notes

you so easily release into the air,

that transcribed from your voice, your touch, your love,

locks me into a synethesia of rich colour

that bursts beneath my feet

and keeps me         floating.

25th of December, 2012.

Golden Morning Sings

In gentle rain pouring down

Christmas Day again.

House

I feel your anger

Collapse onto the everything

Causing the world to slide down, down, down

Onto the floor

That greyed with dust and dirt,

And the face of a cold, cold darkness

Sunk into the flesh of wooden furniture.

You rush towards the tap

And swing it back,

The hot water bursting onto your tired hands

That always feel disgust.

Old decaying life

Ooze a smell that shrieks loud.

Your longing for a gentle warmth

Spoilt by the shiver of discomfort.

I cannot stand it either,

As your anger builds into your veins.

I fear that it'll burst onto me

And onto you

And onto the everything.

I no longer hope for happiness,

Because you no longer wish to find it here.

And my selfishness is desperate

For you to stay.