Portending

I have tasted from golden cups.
As the city around me fell.
In coloured eyes I saw the sea and the sky beneath me swell.
I have lived and be damned.
For the lost dreams like sand.
Slip through my fingers like Sunday afternoons.
Yet this example of perseverance.
Sticks, despite interference, from the voices all around.
With my notions of happiness.
Of everything, and virtue; still to be found.

Let the dead in

Those little lights above my head.
Calling the skin to murmur.
It prickles the spine to know, I’m not alone.
I can’t remember when I was lost.
Wandering in the fog on a wavering strength.
These pulsating voices call, welcoming me back.
Those faces remain.
Allowed in to suffocate the bloodstream.
Occupying every darkened corner.
We let the dead in.
Taking everything but understanding.
For they are welcomed by an impulse.
An idea that creeps in when the darkness takes hold.
Better to be surrounded then end up alone.
Yet I was the last to know.

Seems forever lost?

We do not fade when you close your eyes.
Etched in stone, carved in lies.
Beneath those words please sympathise.
Something starts, when something dies.

And though it seems we’re miles apart
I commit to god for the pain to depart.
When megaliths fall, freedom starts.
And so will heal, your blackened heart.

RED #2: Ruddy muddy sleep

Not over, not complete.
Just fading away.
A blissful depression hung up like ruby red apples.
Strung like silly smiles on those too drunk to know.
This moment washes over, the gravity pulls you down.
Chipping out teeth like tombstones yanked from the ground.
Oh the silence that it unearths.
The faded names who hoped the future would be different.
But the future just teaches loneliness.
As a departure descends.
That long goodbye, hard on the ears but softly spoken.
Trembling in time.
Nothing really dies, we all just fade away.
Siphoned into space.
Breathed out on earth’s asthmatic exhale.
Heaving under strain.
Replaced by things we all despise.
How we spin and sigh and scream.
Reduced to floating dust and regret.
Asleep and dormant, waiting for the nothing.

I came to disappear

Through wanderings of a hallowed heart.
That blesses the soil it treads upon.
Within it tolls a silent bell.
Which calls for time and distance.
And leave me not in that harried place.
Of ill begotten souls and woe.
That race about like dying rats.
And burn the imaginative pith to shadows.
We come alone, and all in pieces.
Figuring out where it all began.
I came out of the dark, and yet too close to the sun.
Now watch me disappear.

Love libarys lost

He skipped to the last pages of the book that he held like a bible in his hands, hands that had privately explored every secret and every page of the story. Words danced out before him, lost in their own rhythm; reaching their exhausting climax. The ending made no sense as usual, and he momentarily searched his thoughts as to why he’d begun it in the first place.

Ahh, that’s right; the cover looked so intriguing.

He placed the book back on his shelf, nestled it in-between an old copy of Harry Potter and his well-presented and orderly kept CD collection. There it was to remain, unopened and unexplored for an age as the dust that collected hung to the tops of the exposed pages like a glossy film. Over time the spine faded and the adventure was forgotten.

From the shelf, as if the characters had crawled from the pages to investigate, it was noticed how a new book was begun and captivated him. Other volumes cried tears of time as they were passed over again and again in favour of the new and intriguing yarn.

Until one day it was no longer present.

Unbeknownst to those who viewed from the shelf; the book was lost on a rainy Tuesday in the month of November whilst travelling on the underground. As is the case of public transport, too many souls shoved together in the tiny tin can, made for distractions and wandering of minds. Making sure his jacket was straight and his phone was buzzing like always, he had left the book on the seat next to him. A careless gesture one might say, like the throwing of a used cup out of the car window; as the residue drips from the inside. But secretly, upon discovery; he did not mind too much as the new book didn’t interest him as much as he had let on. Maybe someone else is reading that story now, on the Hammersmith and city line.

 

Coordinate my heart

Trying to find you on a map today, elusive and disorientating.
All lines and colours.
You’re lost to me, like thirty minutes in the wrong direction.
Asleep on the train.
The thorn in your side is me, the smile and frown pulling you under.
I barely stay afloat myself, holding on to these little rejections.
Devastated, my heartbeat quickens.
Deflated, the blood thickens.
No coercion in love, no help from above.
Just sweet words that fall to the floor.
Faster than the time before.