RED #4: A methemoglobin state of prayer

A half-light silently wanders into sight.
It’s the beating throb of the world.
Now masked in shadows which crept out of us while we slept.
When the ghosts departed.
A dying embrace of an old lover.
The bottled words of a mother who told us to keep out of the road.
While we played, with such abandon, in the town.
On the steps of a church whose windows we’d smashed.
This lumbering giant of trouble, draws our blood.
While we stretch out our hands now in prayer.
To a god no longer there.
All in the shadows of broken mosques and beloved vampires.
Which we willingly idolize.
These empty hands reach for a comfort.
Waking up in pain.
Bruised and bloodied like knees of school kids.
Us in our youth, climbing the tree that hung over the stream.
Dripping the merlot drops into that crystal clear water.
Blurring our own reflections.

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Glorification of inadequacy

I’ve seen them pray in you exaltation.
Lighting candles for us to follow.
But what did you expect from the rest.
I’m doing my best.
Treading water in the heavenly sorrow.
Amen, until tomorrow.

Cold murmur

I will always find you there.
Where the winter turns on high.
Deep down in those memories.
Still you will try to assuage.
Cutting cloths of gold to patch and plaster.
Those were the delicate days.
Filled with stories and culverts where dreams were forming.
To reduce it down to youth is insulting.
You were wicked and wild, level headed in times of crisis.
We were shamed by your glory.
Manoeuvred into your frame to sparkle in the dying sun.
The forest claimed that reasoning.
Covered it in snow, the blood of the berries as our hurt.
Primitive was that love.
A vagrant call to the future with two fingers up at god.
All too soon it collapsed.
Shattered into blue.
You remained frozen in that time.
Dreams dipped in diphtheria, coughing up only blood.
As the rest melted into the tomorrow.
We find you locked in the frozen landscape.
We call into the woods to find you once again.
But you remain, cold and unforgiving.
Trapped in ice.

Violent Psalms

Hallelujah.
The stars inhaled.
A waking darkness crashes into these eyes.
I hear the havoc in this hymn.
And see the shapeless violence crawl forth.
Please, swear now to god and offer forgiveness.
Excuse the trauma that rages out of heaven.
It rained down like this before.
I saw London swallow whole the eternal demise.
It never exhaled this life, this evening, this being.
God left beauty for the angels.
The ugliness of change clings to his fingertips.
Such violence.
But sit, crouch, cry out into the nothingness that now stretches endlessly.
And pull apart that blackened struggling heart.
Which heaves with knowledge and remembering.
Then wash it out with diamonds and blood from those who cared.
Smile towards heaven and forgive those there.
Redemption bears down on all.
Then cry out black tears which curdle in the air.
While the world wipes clean and shudders into tomorrow.

Still

Sad footprints in the snow.
Leading us into the unknown.
The tiredness clings to our faces, having wasted such time.
Scratching and clawing our way into nothingness.
Silently they surround me.
Little birds of explanation.
Their vibrant feathers of understanding flutter in the summer sky.
How far had the fall been?
How deep did the chasm in my heart drop?
Never to be filled, yet clinging and yearning for the wanting.
For the void of the material.
Junk in the soul.
A whisper in my ear is not the breath of god.
The hand on my head is not an angelic caress.
It’s the apology I give to myself.
The embrace of my own arms, wrapped in forgiveness.
Head bowed in respect.
A stillness rises in me.
Loud like the winter.
Blooming like the spring of being the god within.
Sacred and defined.

93

Lost, feeling the way out.
Travelling through the veins of god.
Hearing that global heartbeat.
I want to swallow the moon tonight.
To feel the tidal shift in my stomach.
To spit out the bones of the past.
And the well-travelled tin cans.
I touch this earth, and it feels like home.
Yet when my eyes blink open.
I am crushed by the weight of this world.
I belong here, but a million miles behind in time.
Waiting for the palm leaves and ferns to sprout in my veins.
I wish to return, and remain.
Eating forbidden fruit.
Running with the beasts.
Perhaps the change will come from inside.
Washing over me like conscience.
Seeing the divine in all that my eyes lay upon.
This is our home. It’s our only one.
Ninety three million miles from the sun.

Lune à l’esprit

These moments, like pearls on silver lips.
Gently spun and mouthed in wonder.
Consumed by the burning fire of solar saturation.
A golden treasure that I can sit beneath.
Counting coins and constellations.
Never equalling my love for you.
We are but pieces of a shattered moon.
That fell to earth when the world was sleeping.
They never knew how I kissed you, pioneered your love.
Discoverer. Sweet foreign terrain.
Unknown to them in the quietness above.
We are blank space and white noise in their muddled worlds.
Silent, like the dawn.
Tiptoe with me now, to the edge of the unknown.
These transparent moments.
Into the corner of god’s pocket.
Un-stitching fabric and time, eager to breathe the space of the infinite.
And air that sets my soul alight.
Burning the past and dancing on the surface.
Of a moon that those below can only howl at.

The Flowers of revolution

Have you seen?
God’s opportunity.
Inside psalms which scratch your heart.
Voices so strong they stabilise heaven.
Disappear and discover that new challenge.
Which calls you higher.
You remember the way I fell.
I remember your outstretched healing hands.
It’s my only reference point now.
Blooming the songs and suspicions in my mind.
How could you be so sincere?
This imagination comes alive and shakes me.
My snow globe mind.
And in mind of my defence, I used to not believe.
Your simple kiss changed that.
And shook me deep.
These flowers I now weep.

Second guessing

Disappearing now.
The time came suddenly, like a Monday morning.
Calling you, as long lost friend.
You took a hold of the avalanche and held your breath.
Erasing all in a brilliance of white and gold.
No more tomorrow thinking.
Or second guessing.
Passing now into something else.
Not man made.
Between interstellar space, and home.
It was so easy to dive in, to dive through the dark this time.
Not like before, when you tried. When you failed.
And the water froze you like heartache.
A new terrain looms in your eyes.
This escape is now your land.
No longer the mistress or mister, the sister or ghost that your tried to figure out.
Your god.
Take the keys, and say goodbye once more to the floor which once pulled you.
An inconvenient gravity.
Breathe in, and out again like holy oxygen.
Disappear and explore.
Once more.

Broken blossoms

Heady vacant leaves blow in from the past.
Caught in the teeth of wisdom.
The coldness of a touch, when war has begun.
Leaves all but the strong shaking.
A flattening of houses and trust that was built.
Crumbling and grumbling in the ruins of despair.
Who takes you there?
To the banks of a river now black like tar.
Awash with the rubbish and junk of petty squabbles.
This fighting is good for only the undertaker.
Who buries our souls and dignity at night.
When no-one is watching to see the sad failure of hope.
A scab of regret will build and tower over this land;
this heart, and this space we’ve placed ourselves in.
The devil lines the walls with sickly cement of apathy.
Only god can peel it back and flick away the decay.
Letting the scars heal in the light and air of tomorrow.
As we bathe in holy water and the tears of trying.

Turning blue

Why is my world painted red?
No home, no hope, no heart.
Cast on a raft headed to the end.
Your vermilion tongue spits these thoughts.
A fever and the fakery that expands.
Yet these lies break in my hands.
And the hope swims beneath.
Blue and enticing. Like the ocean in god’s eyes.
A Sweet expanse of blue.
And nothing like you.

Set the birds free

Where are you going to?
The voice asks, cold like decision.
To set the birds free.
And act, long forgotten.
It had covered over into memory.
By the tide of life.
What will happen?
I do not know, I replied.
Opening the veins, so god could peek inside.
They did that once before.
And we never forgot.
Yet this now seems strange to you?
Yes, because the birds usually nest in the garden.
Not in your heart.
This morning, I will set them free.
Then do it quickly, for I cannot watch.
Does the action bother you, the flapping of wings?
No, not that.
I cannot stand to see freedom, when I’m still locked inside.
The birds inside you I fear, have died.
Yes, but yours can still fly to heaven.
They will fly free at least.

Sky burial

Make way for sad opportunity.
An internal march into time.
Who here has the energy, to battle any longer?
Only kings know when their time is done.
How to lay down forever, which position do we wear?
Tired and tested.
Joyful and sublime.
Making way for time’s sweet blanket.
We do not crawl to the end.
Or lie here waiting for the angels to carry us.
We hurry, back and forth between moments that mean nothing.
In the eyes of god, or the great beyond.

Years subside

Twilight and daybreak intertwine.
Casting shadows and dawn on these eyelids.
People come and talk to me of passion.
Then they linger, and talk to me of death.
I feel stuck inside a moral station.
Watching the trains as I in decide.
I feel a murmur of god, yet the call of the wild.
Battling against the push of gravity.
No longer feeling its pull.
How the years have folded like a napkin in my lap.
Dirty and used.
Yet I wonder. I wonder if I’m hungry still.

מצטער (sorry)

That black stone of pain, is one that I made.
Swimming in your soul.
It’s an ugly product of how I behaved.
Dark as a lump of coal.
But I cannot erase, that blood or pain.
Or opening doors to fears.
But in my heart, I feel such shame.
Let me cry out my sorrowful tears.
And patch the wound with sincere light.
With apologies made in heaven.
That wrap around and bind so tight.
Crumbling that stone through my confession.

(To all, have a meaningful Yom Kippur)

I miss my ocean

Sand. Dirty sand and soil.
Dust in my mouth and coating this skin.
A film of sweat covers me.
Sticky heat and restless.
I miss my sea, the ocean that bore me.
Tranquil and deep like the pools in my mind.
To drift and meander across its aqua stretches.
Calms the blood that torrents through me.
I miss my sea, my ocean.
At times stormy, but full of life.
Threatening to pull me down to the ocean floor.
Where I can be alone, and able to heal.
The arid heat and air of this desert itches my eyes.
Scratches at the very thought of going on another day.
The salty air calls me back.
A maelstrom of reasons directing my compass.
To ride over waves and rise with Atlantis.
Reaching a trident back up to god.
So I shall make my way, and crawl back into the sea.
One which always welcomes and cherishes me.
Washing everything clean, and cooling my soul.
I miss my ocean.
I miss my sea.

London burning

Heavy scented air, the smell of ash and autumn.
Of change brimming like a supernova.
To watch only, yet still participate; leaves me shaking.
That blood on the sky, smeared into a ruby rose.
It stains my eyes and heart.
I watch as London burns with a fire of sadness.
Of a past ignited into nothingness.
But I’m not looking for someone to blame.
Those flames lick like a consequence that is buried deep in my hands.
Red and scorched like god’s eyelashes.
Choking out the hope and happiness.
It rages on, bringing ruins to our appetites.
Finally snuffed out by huge holy tears.

Desert eyes

To walk the sands of time, to find the doorway to heaven.
Leaves me breathless.
You put your hands on this skin, and I succumb.
Unabated astral movements behind my eyes.
To know you from somewhere, is to feel you under my skin.
As my blood crashes down the sand dunes on the walls of my heart.
I left you, and found you there.
Waiting for me where the moon sinks and threatens never to return.
With honey wine still on your kiss, I will not function.
I slip into another consciousness.
Walking in a dream that quivers on god’s fingers.
Kiss me from dying, and wake me once more.
Let me disappear into your arms that comfort me like a blanket against desert cold.
And I will wash these tears away in the pools of your eyes.
That offer such sweet safety swims, to the desert floor.

Savage reconstruction of self

Through heavy storms this heart doth beat.
Battle born and weary.
Feathers frayed liked angelic irony.
Patched and nearly severed.
Where do you go to be reborn?
While wolves lick between your teeth.
And though pregnant hopes swell and ebb.
Through cobweb sticky emotions, and distance in your eyes.
The cries of sincere doubt corrode quickly in your salty waves.
Smashed into pieces upon your unwelcoming rocky shore.
Yet something crawls out of the ocean.
Something that slayed the terrors of the deep.
To reach up and scale that towering mountain.
That you placed there to warn those out to sea.
Of how close to god you now sit and suffer.
How away from us you wish to be.