Amber decay

Those eyes, like looking glasses.
Capture the world in a distorted array.
Seeped of all colour and upside down.
Turning around this fallen crown.
This sweet elaborate fantasy.
Dances on these teeth.
Pirouettes of plenty, singing in ivory.
Swallowed into that choking void.
Caught like fossilised plants trampled under dinosaur feet.
Extinguished, by the weight of their world.
What grief is there for time that is folded?
Pealed back by god, like the flesh off a wound.
Stings for the moment, heals in a heartbeat.
Forgotten by the time you wake.
You may search, yet only ever find bits of me.
The million little pieces that occupy space, time; dreams that don’t die.
Does it wriggle in your stomach, those dancing moments remembered?
Do I rip inside you skull when you wish to forget?
The hungry ghosts of me may feed forever on your soul.
Born of the schism between you and I.
For where I hoped we would be lost forever in time.
You hurried a much crueller demise.
In loving forever from a far.
Farewell this amber heart.
Precious only to the fact it survived so very long.

Advertisements

Death in neutral

Death comes, not in the sudden felling of your tree of life.
That monumental crash in the wooded realm of existence.
Or in an avalanche of silent demise,
Crashing into white off a precipice that follows a climb.
Death never leaves a new life.
It breathes silently on your skin.
Like a misty voice, cold and condensed.
Dew dropping its pain along the way.
Watching as your petals of life fall.
A new one each day.

Shroud

Awaiting for the darkness to pass.
For a sting’s throb to relent.
Deep in this cave of uncertainty.
Where the buzz of doubt floods and overwhelms.
Yet there is a peek, a gentle stab at the white veiled sleep.
The sunshine finger of light that inquires into the bowels.
What beneath the shroud is alive or dead?
The smell of decay sits too absently now in the air.
You know what was buried there.
For you killed it with your departure.
Yet as the birds sing their larkening song.
That threatens a spring in winter.
So too the shroud is awakening.
Dropping its ghosts and mangled possessions.
To breathe and live once more.
And taste the April showers and life’s new blooms.