Glass black box

A vibration stems from the soil, creeping up the path.
Into the bones and the brains, a humming remains.
What stains the insides like a smear of the past.
Just memories and bits of self.
I buried it all as the clock thundered.
As the skies exploded in a sea of lightening.
Veins cracking the heavens like the strikes across my eyes.
The box is glass and fragile.
The contents heavy and sad.
Black like tar and the sticky oil of failed dreams.
Colour is not needed, for no one is to see.
To bury is to put aside.
Covering it with mother earth who dies a little more each day.
Who will find it? I do not know.
But it lays there now, like my ashes will one day.
A pound of flesh, and tears of regret.
The cinders of wishes that were wasted.
Inside the box they can cry together.
Silently, as those above do not care to hear.
So with this lightened heart I move.
From the pines to the eucalyptus air.
Stumbling across the sands, where I fear other boxes may dwell.
Waiting to be smashed apart.
Or cracked like the fragile glass hearts of tomorrow.

(un)Like treasure

You hold the keys to the sky.
An endless blue which promises forever.
I have the lock of an ocean.
Depths as deep and as cold as snow.
In dreams.
There is no harm.
But the mist rises on tomorrow and the sky darkens.
Don’t you want me to stay?
An honesty now hangs off the stars tonight.
The moon offers nothing at all.
Your eyes echo the voice of your heart.
A fleet, a fissure; a retreat to the start.
As the day breaks like a cracked egg.
Your clouds roll on.
Offering me the sweet glimpse of light that bursts from your mouth.
Forgiveness comes at a price.
And the treasure that’s paid was once in my depths.
Covered in sand and sadness.
It now glimmers in the morning dawn.
Melting over your eyes like the sky.

Winter descends

Winter comes, like all the seasons.
Betrays the summer with its frozen reasons.
Killing off the leaves which cling so desperate to the branch.
And in my own mind’s yearly tree.
I hunker down quite hastily.
Sparing the blossoms of my head for another notch of time.
Surrounded and lost by love and laughter.
A festive phase much sought-after.
Frozen in the static of knowing where it all began.
So begin to fold the year away.
For memories linger but rarely stay.
Till’ soon it’s all forgotten like a love we had before.
And now the snow fills up my veins.
Frost and sadness cause fresh new pains.
And these bones are breaking to the cold creeping across the floor.
Yet while isn’t bleak and cold mid-winter.
There is a promise we can disinter.
Not guaranteed, there is a spring around God’s open door.
So enjoy the snow for it has never lasted.
A fading dust seasonally granted.
A beauty in the frozen landscape of winter’s yearly dance.
Make merry while you turn and tide.
Smile and bow to December’s bride.
Then greet tomorrow’s calendar with a better version than before.

Sweet dreams

Quiet, shhh; let the dreams take hold.
Block out the hurt, the noise and the cold.
Drift into the world of the never before seen.
A place where neither you nor I have been.
Those stories will unfold like the tail of a fairy.
Some of them tall, colourful and scary.
With places that can hide you when life gets too much.
Where you are brave and beautiful; and no longer touched.
Here is freedom wrapped in a space.
A wonderful illusion of time in a place.
So let the dreams now explode in your head.
All from the apparent safety of your bed.

Lost illusions

Fold the world into silence.
Mute the lava that runs through our core.
Bubbling into frantic action.
When anger shows.
So many lives, repeated like a failing student.
Brought back time and again, yet never the same.
Lessons drip from these eyelids.
Lies smother the eyes of such hopeful.
Innocence trapped in ice.
Drop these illusions like a weight of the moon.
Flung out into the cosmos, only to orbit your world.
God eclipses such distant.
Love replaces the fear of the known.
Nobody knows what is yet to come.

Growth in young

You live for the days of silence.
Of echoes in your mind.
Casting back to a time that tastes of weightlessness.
Those days that feel like rain, but move like summer.
Yellow hazed on a cut grass tear blade dripping like dew.
To fold and keep in your pocket.
Is the secret whisper you have to God.
As the days roll into the darkness.
Dulling in the rotten tree that towers in your home.
Just for a moment, hope the leaves don’t blow away in the storm.
For once, the anchor of hope is enough to keep it alive.
Those days of air, all breath and intimate.
Turning over in your hands that wrinkle in the water of time.
Hush, to those calls that take you down into the marrow.
And hang your spirit high on the branches that reach instead to the sky.
Weeping willowy tears to the things your wished you’d known.

Dormant

What becomes of the people who have moved on?
The ones that forget your name?
A soul has healed and the hurt vacates.
Yet deep inside, covered in black.
Surrounded by the walls of lack.
A tiny grain remains.
And a name, once called in love and hate.
Spins forever like a tiny planet on an axis.
Wobbling against the curve of life.
Dormant, yet waiting.
To rise like a Pisces out of the space of time yet come.

Empire

A moment, while the construction lifts.
As the walls do fall, and earth does shift.
I see the world confined in your eyes.
A future tale, where light does hide.
And in that breath you kill completely.
Decaying past, swept up so sweetly.
That now I raise our love much higher.
My new religion. Our new empire.

Bestowed

Your voice, it calls me higher.
Cracking this concrete world which tethers me at times.
The challenge in arriving, with a heart still heaving.
Shaken to the core, for the love you try to give.
You turned away, and I was lost again.
A return settles in my soul.
With eyes that learned to love again.
And hands that try to heal.
Don’t speak to me yet, for I may shatter.
Listening to such sweet benediction.
From lips I wish to meet, and taste again love’s magic.
These expecting steps, lead me further.
As I clumsily tumble into now.
You say you want me, and the moon begins to weep.
As you being to wash away my sadness.
Kissing the scars, some made by you, in low starlight.
Skin to skin.
Drenched now in honey within.
Sweet sparkles.
With strung up stars waiting to explode.
Disintegrating now into brilliant lights of diamonds.

يتساءل

And after all this time, where have I been?
Picking wonderments off these eyeballs.
Peeling moments off my skin.
Weary hearts and feet tell my tale.
Of lands baked in summer gold.
I licked the rubies there, tasted the royalty.
Scared away the ghosts that threatened to follow.
A Land of milk and honey, resided in these bones so hollow and dusty.
Washing away the arthritic rhythms of a life half led.
And though sometimes I despair.
Searching for the darkness when there seems nothing else to grasp.
Tiny voices carry, across the seas to me.
From the angels, who have already won.
Promising me a winter song, still left to sing.

A Place in the stars

Lots of people were afraid. Rational and irrational fears grew like ivy in the cluttered world he lived in. As Jeremiah found, fear was just a part of life. His sister had always been afraid of spiders. Snakes too, though spiders were a more an everyday hazard, bringing out an alarming response from her no matter who was around. He never forgot the day she found one in her bed when she was going to sleep, the screams had echoed down into the street making the dogs in the neighbour’s garden bark. They had shared a bedroom in the old house then, out of necessity more than anything else.

It wasn’t until he was five years old that he had a room of his own. Of course, this came with the collapse of his parent’s marriage and he would have traded in a second the large bedroom at his father’s house, for the pokey one he shared with his sister. At least that way they would still be together. But people, like marriages collapse. His sister departing only a year into his larger bedroom life, not from a spider attack, but from the leukemia that had corroded her from the inside.

Jeremiah was afraid of one thing, and one thing only. He was afraid of time. How it snuck in on him and those he loved. Snatching away those things and people he held dear. Turning, tumbling and changing his little world that he would want to keep secret and safe under a bell jar. He would look up into the night’s sky and see the stars blinking above him. Fixed into position like reliable Christmas lights, always there like the season; waiting to bring joy.

When he was much older, he learned the true nature of space. The twirling chaos that attacked the cosmos, with everything in flux. But for that six year boy within him still, he would always see safety and security in the stars. His friends that were always there like jewels in black cement.

Jeremiah though was understanding about people’s fears. He understood why his sister had been afraid of spiders. How her mind would run with a thousand possibilities of what could happen, and the deathly mist that surrounded them and the poisonousness possibilities. Much like he understood people’s fear of flying. He had met an old lady on a flight to Rome once before, sitting in the aisle seat next to him. She was so afraid, her white knuckles had gripped onto the armrest for the duration of the flight; her eyes closed as if in silent prayer to keep her aloft and to land safely in the eternal city. He had wondered what she was so desperate to live for, what in her life was she so afraid of losing. One’s own death being usually a horrible climax of pain and distress, but momentary. What was she so afraid of not completing? What had her life really been about?

He had sat there himself on that small plane, thousands of miles above the French Alps, watching the snow-capped peaks shimmering in the sun. If they were to descend, collapse in a fiery demise and be strewn in wreckage across the snowy landscape; what was he missing out on? What in his life was he left to accomplish or leave behind? He would be missed of course. His partner would be distraught, and tears would be shed; at least he hoped would. But life would go on, time would cover the hurt up in sand and silence. Changing once more the nature of things.

Time. His biggest enemy.

He had landed in Rome safe and sound, the flight not having crashed like many unfortunate others had. He had quit his job that very day, enjoying a nice little holiday there instead of the work he had come there to do.

If he had known he were to die at the age of thirty three, Jeremiah would probably not have done things much different than he had. He would most likely have avoided a lot more arguments. Those stupid back and forths with people over things that mean nothing to the wider universe. He knew time was always against him, under his feet like an escalator he couldn’t stop or slow down. In this way, he lived a full life. He understood the preciousness and fragility of it all. He squeezed his partner a bit more when they hugged and kissed. He meant it more when he said I love you. Perfection was not to be a part of his existence on earth, yet Jeremiah saw the bigger picture. It was all a blink in the eye of God, and he knew he had no time to waste.

When at thirty three, he reached the top of the escalator, he glanced over the side to see how far he’d come. It all looked so small and crushable from his vantage point. He was alone, but he wasn’t sad. He could see his friends glittering their celestial magic as diamonds across the inky black. Their luminosity radiant and strong like a million burning suns. And he took his place in the stars, content and happy that the clocks had finally stopped ticking.

Severing

Esoteric sounds lie heavy in the air.
A calling, during the severing.
Deep dark pits that burrow into the earth.
Lay grinning, awaiting to swallow the cast aside past.
Life, like a kitchen table; un-pretty yet stable.
Holds the weight of what the angels let fall.
Sweet apples off their vine’s.
The well is dry, the phone is dead.
All connections are lost.
In that moment of sutterment.
Keep quiet, hear the utterment.
Close your eyes to what is being read.
The future hangs in those gum trees.
It murmurs in that warm southern ocean tide.
Deliverance from the space that darkness possessed.
Awash with light in which to drown.
Soft misty words of hope, that piece the world together again.

Diverted by distance light

Dreaming hopeful and sifting sand.
A hollowed doubt in a burning hand.
As eyes peel back and strip the moon.
This silent feeling is gone too soon.
We count the days as they fall like birds.
With tarred up feathers and swallowed words.
Two throbbing hearts break forth and run.
Leaving shadows and souls in that dying sun.

Accelerate

What have you done?
Today, this life; where have you gone?
Which root did you pull out?
What bone did you break?
What flood turned to drought?
Which love to an ache.
You may forgot everything in the end.
As time shuffles by, and souls begin to bend.
But you have each moment, each second in the sun.
A little tiny diamond, reserved for each one.
To pick up today, and more the day after.
A small little treasure, like happiness and laughter.
So forget the mould and oil that covers you like gloom.
And go out and discover, and shoot for the moon.

Devoir

The noise was smothered by the night.
Lain down in god’s whisper.
So deep the mind fell.
Beyond fossilised creatures and secrets in tar.
The moon hummed in its milky orbit.
Delicious solitude descended.
A quietening of existence.
That is where I’ll find you.
Beyond the chaos and the trauma that litters these lives.
Your sanctuary for my soul.
A marbled palace adorned with tears and precious memories.
A temple I wish to practice our religion.
So light those candles and sing me to sleep.
With conflicting thoughts of tomorrow.
And your voice crawling over me.
So when the day blazes into this skin.
Purifying each sin.
The renewal within, is possible.
Only by your sweet vow.
To remain.

Save yourself/serve yourself

Now that we are so anaesthetised.
We settle for blankness.
Without any compromise.
You suck the soul from us every day.
Filling the void with countenance and suspicion.
Such a beautiful paradox, what a time to be alive.
So lazy by design.
You wear the masks of the familiar.
Cutting the ties that bind us to our future.
And who are we to utter, the silent stutter into separation.
Your IS desperation to keep us scared.
There is no oil here, only pits of anger.
Bubbling to the surface.
Such disturbance now at the house.
The roaring of a mouse, of a nation who were followers.
Now numbering the chorus that’s out of control.
Democracy hangs in the air, like the miasma of the 18th century.
Fogging London once more with a noxious distaste.
We all wear our own tin foil crowns.
Crunching the bones of despair.
The Fear of standing for something.
I am but one of many, lounging in my paralysis.
A self-inflicted state of disconnect.
Waiting for the numbness to arrive.

Fake dawn

The stars are so bright tonight.
It sounds childish, that you want it to last forever.
You see the same in my eyes.
Stretching the night.
Trusting the darkness.
Tomorrow was a failure.
Today is weakened by the sight of it.
That returning thought of Saturn.
Shrinking once more into the horizon.
You marked it there.
It’s easy to hope for the dawn to take you.
Easy to grapple that hand of mine into yours.
Sending postcards and roses to your sixteen year old self.
A secret message that you made it.
It’s harder to wipe the sleep from your eyes.
Harder to beckon in the day.
Which threatens to stain us like the ones before.
When we were lonely.
And afraid.

Hesitate

Lay down in stars.
Sweet dust on the back of your neck.
I lick you there, into forever.
The heady taste of tomorrow.
But can you tell I’m faking it?
Caught between sleep and infatuation.
I want to love you, but I’m covered in shells.
Deceit and artificial reckoning.
The smell of the ocean.
A wave of self-doubt and your words in my ear.
The return of sadness.
That never truly left.

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.

Enamoured

Are you ready, to drop from the sky.
For your bones to feel alive.
Forget that we’re miles apart.
Drift into the light, then dream and breathe me.
Be with me, as the night comes.
And time laps at our feet.
This is our moments colliding.
Walking away from hurt and the decay of yesterday.
Those healing words that rip across my heart.
That speak of times where a smile is etched across our lives.
An odyssey to tell by those we leave behind.
For these moments are precious and solitary to only us.
A grappling hand, in the chaos that today threatens.
Steadied and secure, cupped in my own.
In my eye line.
Which blazes with the light you offer.
Bottled, stowed and suffice.
Living. Here. Now.
Enamoured.

Peck

There, can you hear it?
A relentless tapping.
Incessant as the dark which captures the night.
It comes and never leaves. Beating out the marrow of my bones.
Do not shake your head in disbelief, it’s a nightmare for which I seek relief.
Hello, it’s me here the fluttering reminder.
You inside me, what is that sound?
It’s breaking my will and senses down.
I’m the little bird that was on your windowpane.
I came inside when you opened that vein.

And now you tap inside my skull all day?
I’m here yes, and happy to say;
better me than the moths and ghosts.
Who’d nibble at your heart like toast.
If I move to the light, will you follow?
I told you once, your head is not hollow; you know that I am here to stay.
For how long?
Well, I couldn’t say.
I hope my fluttering would lodge that organ.
Of pulsing grey and tangle webs.
Of thoughts and hopes inside this head.
Lodge them why, what do I need?
I am safe alone, without any need;
of impulses that force me out of comfort.
Or being lost, failed abandoned then hurt.
I tap and knock as an irritant reminder.
You’re wasting time here, like a static sidewinder.
An empty column of force and wind.
That’s fading fast, anorexically thinned.

(Sigh)
I know, you’re right, but what can I do?
I had my dreams, but away they flew.
I’ll tell you what, there is tomorrow.
I’ll start it all then, and dreams will follow.
Then I will carry on with my tapping.
To keep you from your easy napping.
I said tomorrow I’ll chase those dreams.
For now please cease these needless screams.
Of forcing me, when I’m feeling forced.
Very well my friend, you steer your course.
But If not today, then tell me then.
If not then why, and perhaps then when?