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.

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Windout

Be prepared for anything.
Little truths and indiscretions.
The joy will dig real deep.
As years fall away into memory.
You look forward, into my dreams.
Ignore those interruptions of life.
The wind in your chest breathes now.
This is your new religion.

In death, we shine

Your tombstone bares words that read your life.
Of sympathy, of love and strife.
But in the bones, that lie beneath.
A head of stars sits with golden teeth.
And holds a grand and saintly story.
Beyond the scope of daily glory.
For your own magic hums inside those bones.
Beyond what’s carved above in stone.
Your story is a vast and endless sea.
That goes beyond mortal humanity.

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.

Stalling

A rusted heart, worn by tears.
Breaking down, in a broken town.
This heartbreak city of shattered dreams.
The water got into the fuel.
The hate got into the love.
Churned and exhausted all.
How long were we running on empty?
As the metal flayed and tore into our flesh.
Juttering to a stop, a stalling of hearts.
Roll down the windows of our eyes, and see where we have ended up.
A place I hate to be, detoured and gotten lost.
The wheels are coming to a stop.
Stalling, and likely to forever remain.
Or to corrode in your acid rain.

Head for the horizon

The cuttings of a life, strewn over floor.
Burning the house down.
Taken all the youth you could carry.
Watched and charted.
By faces with a lack of sincerity.
Living only as ghosts in a mind;
now tired of putting out the fires.
Of keeping wolves at bay.
Tinsel traces of the familiar.
Staining the past.
Yet born to run away.
Who remains, to entertain?
Just swallow your feathered fear.
And head for the horizon.

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.

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.

View from the top

These sights wash these eyes like concrete.
Nothing moves me.
There is an absence of surprise now in my bones.
The world unfolds before me, much the same as it did yesterday.
Ashes never change.
It’s such a shame that everything stays the same.
And all these prayers go unanswered.
The wasted youth of trying to figure it all out.
Coming up empty.
Pots of fool’s gold and the things unneeded.
Yet bought at such a price.
The devil counts the souls as the sun goes down.
These conversations I have now, should be with myself.
Ten years ago.
Instead of to God.
Who always only ever laughed.

Up on the ride

‘So, you will change today.
The lights you so frequently cover will begin to shine again.
The pathways you trapped so blindly will start their purpose, or disappear.
The drastic decisiveness that you must learn to inherit will make its first cautious journey.
Upwards, into your inverted perception circle. I would like to be your friend.
Life, a gift you so often squander is precious, as it has always been.
And faith, that I have hidden, still sits above your head.
So pull back the morphine curtains, go wash and purge those demons clean.
Today is the first day, as they have always been.
And today, dear you, you will begin to love yourself with joy.’


Guillemots:Up on the ride

Checkers and chess

How to topple the king which wears the crown so royally.
Moments and magnesium fill the place of diamonds and gems.
Wrapped in much Fools gold.
And the crown heaves down, rubbing red and raw.
Check
A life long lived with much regret.
Check.
How we turn the heels and fled.
To learn a life in which to lead, we watch the others.
Little eyes through holes in fences.
A voyeuristic violation, into their little galaxies.
That swirl and sway like the black in the white.
Changing from dismay, into delight.
And you take this horse by the reigns, and lead me through the forest.
Through the clearing of my ill begotten ways.
Out of the woods, out of the storm.
Peppering poppies that fill my lungs with such poisonous perspective.
And show me.
That I had been asleep all this time.

Undoing

Flutter as the noise disturbs the flies.
And the feelings come alive.
In all of the ways you make it up.
How much of you is smeared in invisible ink on the soul?
It’s a little of you, a little of me.
A flame caught in the eyes of others.
Reboot.
Start again and untangle the mess of a millennium.
Who set the clocks anyway, the ones that are always ticking?
Paint all of this green and make it come alive.
Dance in the field of the immortals.
Where nothing shakes their bones.
And welcome arms embrace your indecision.
For that is where true beings reside.
And the great pretenders die.

Mental Masturbation

The wind blew her northward.
Desert dry and frigidly barren.
Her mind, not her body.
Spent, but ready to burst again.
Like a leaf on the breeze she fell where she landed.
Pouring paint into the world.
Cracking open others soul’s to sneak in and plant diamonds.
She came like Christmas, a beautiful pageant of lights and colour.
Soaking up the grey.
Uprooting the cemetery stones that stuck up like teeth.
She polished them like new enamel.
Dressed in the same clothes she was to be buried in, she was like you or I.
The same skeleton underneath.
Yet she was different.
Feeding the animals in her mind she roared at life, treating it like a circus.
Until she floated away again, when her work here was done.

In this particular sphere

With only minutes to save the world,
she bent down low.
Crying out a river of stars to fasten to the stratosphere.
The salty ocean of a million prayers never answered.
Streaming into the volcanic centre of the world.
Humming like the moon.
Spinning like the earth’s axis.
Crashing through the cosmos with all but love.
She looked once more at the interstellar void.
The one orbiting each of us.
And she smiled, as she ignites the sun inside.
Then leaves on a chariot to the gods.
Knowing we’ll be okay.

Orbiting the future

This space I’m caught within.
Where there’s no beauty in such sadness.
Hewn from the rocks and chiselled out of time.
Copper bones that bend to an autumn song.
The creeping winter that will come.
Round and round like a circle.
Memories eating each other’s tale.
Imprinted in carbon like life’s fingerprints.
A sorrowful scratch in god’s vacant eye.
But within, a sound of escape.
Roaring into a new dawn.
Too big for the cavern it once called home.
Chasing the future and creation.
Hoping to prove both wrong.

Late night tale

What will be your legacy?

The earth will continue to turn over as the day melts into the misty night of the lonely. The seasons, with all their trappings will parade through time like compartments on a train; heading for an unknown destination but one that feels familiar.

What will you leave behind Jack, to a world already brimming with forgotten stories? Of people who have already done things that you crave to accomplish. Your life sits in the valley of the forever reaching, watching the clouds pass that offer hope and rain.
He held the phone to his ear, the ringing echoing in his skull like a voice in a seashell. He drew a pattern on his shorts as he awaited the click, the delayed static before they spoke. Looking outside his window he could see the half-moon poking its jagged edge above the trees. The clouds fluttered over it, shielding its full brilliance and illumination. Holding back the hope, and the light that didn’t even belong to it. The moon was a thief after all, growing infamous off the sun’s illumination.

“Hello?” the voice answered, the tinge of annoyance already present.
“Hi, how are you?” Jack said, clicking his fingers. He was nervous and angry; which had always been a dangerous mix.
“Fine….” they replied before following with “…you?” God forbid they be rude to the others listening. God watches all after all.

Even the devil? Jack wondered in that moment, as the moon ascended the top of the trees now and glared fully for the first time.

“I’m okay thanks. I was wondering if you wanted to talk?” He asked, trying his best to sound inviting, make his voice something that would open up the soul that had shut him out for nearly a week now. He knew it was a stretch, his feigned reassurance always came across as hostile for some reason, like razorblades in candy bars badly hidden.

“Not really.” They replied. He could hear music down the line, cutting the awkward silence that would be building now like a monstrous hill.
“That’s a shame. I thought by now you would have had time to think, and perhaps something to say to me. You know, you’re not being very fair.” Jack said, his voice stayed level. He was annoyed, it had been going on too long now. The uncertainty was eating away at his impatience, combusting his state of mind.

“Well, I’ve kinda said it all already. What else is there to say?” No remorse, no softly spoken words to reassure. Just the cutting knife of the reality that he had feared all along. Did they know how many nights that week he had cried into the pillow that their head used to sink into?  The smell of their hair long since gone. It had been ages since they had stayed over. A month and a war in the space of their relationship which was now halting, wheezing and ready to collapse into the river of time that pulled all things away.

He wanted to shake their head and heart, unhook the kindness that seemed to have been placed behind iron walls and stony facades. He knew these words betrayed their real feelings. How many times had they said they loved him, how many times? Less than he had ever uttered a nasty voice spat inside his own head. His mind had been a petri dish of all ill thoughts and worse case scenarios this past week. Suspicion breeding like virus as self-doubt was on the rise.

“I want you to say, you’re sorry I guess.” He blurted out suddenly, regretting it instantly but proud somewhat he had said it at all.

“Sorry?! Me?” the voice replayed, taken aback by such an innocent requests which echoed unwelcomingly in their own private world of self-preservation and denial.

“Yes, you’ve not been kind to me. You know how I feel, and you know what buttons to push.” He said.

There was a long silence, the music in the background having been turned off momentarily before. The break hung like Christmas decorations in March, out of place and conjuring conflicting memories.

“I’m…I’m sorry Jack.”

He was surprised, then overcome with panic. It was the goodbye he feared. The closure they needed and the thing he had orbited around. He had given them the ticket to depart and leave him forever. A clear conscience can flee with ease, and freedom only helps you say goodbye.

How long he had stayed on the phone, he didn’t remember. They must have clicked off a while ago as the moon now indicated to him the night had come. The darkness was here, nothing more now, and the nights were to be cold and desolate.

Don’t believe the past

Unwrap the dreams for another day.
Place them on the table while the time slips away.
Cough up a resolution, to the disorder and the chaos.
Let them take your blood type.
Dig you up like dinosaur bones.
These bones, so tired and hollow.
Broken from the strain of life.
Blink. Breathe. Begin.
Box up those nightmares.
Sweep the past into the corner of the solar system.
Douse yourself in oil and light a spark.
And blaze into a new collection of hours.
Of your borrowed time on earth.
For who knows how long we have.

Burst

Skin that sizzles like a lemon in the sun.
All your dreams have just begun.
For deep within your bones doth lie.
A lightening strength, to touch the sky.
A bursting hope, that shines within.
And penetrates your citrus skin.
So suck on life, and savour and relish.
Do not allow those dreams to perish.
For we are all different as lemons to limes.
And painfully on sweet borrowed time.