Hope against Hope

The blood settles, as if time holds its breath.
Cupped in a hush, frightened to flow.
The rest awaits.
A shuffle in the mind.
The attic of the body, like a restless Dorian Gray.
When the eyes reveal the true horror of the ordinary.
A Day, much like yesterday.
Comfort swallows, the needed search forever longing.
Secure and safe.
How else do we move, if not shaken from the spot.
The mountain beckons, a summit that seems never conquerable.
A defeatist voice that echoes in your ears.
Humming its way through your muscles, reversed intent.
Until a swing of the pendulum, a signal fire of age.
Of time wasted, sand spilling from your hands.
Dust in the blood.
Your time is now, it was actually then.
We enjoy the blessing every day, to start again.

Shell of imaginary imagination

Caught in the tangled weeds of busy nothing.
A mind fraught and frayed in the vines of life.
I wait for god to cut me free.
To untangle my mind.
Yet in my sleepy weariness I hear.
A starlight voice that tickles the back of my neck.
And turns each shake into a shiver.
God whispers.
It’s all an illusion.
Your garden is your own.
And the demons are just voices.
Trying to find new homes.

Roses underneath the pain

Whispers in the light.
Tiny voices hurrying me towards.
This ledge of existence.
Karma crawled over me, covering me like a blanket.
Blocking out the vision which haunted my mind.
I moved beyond winter, down deep into the stomach of an ice age.
Cold and lonely.
My hope flickering like a dying flame.
While nothing came.
No coconut breeze to bring me back to the shore.
No memories, once buried, rose up in a Lazarus tableau.
Indeed, there was no sound but the wind.
Which tore at my rotting flesh like little daggers.
It was then the warmth came.
Inwardly, the calming chemical concert that played in my veins.
It washed over me a picture of you.
Crimson and metallic, hammered into my skull.
For you would be the last thing I ever saw.
A bridge over to the other side.
That final freedom giving goodbye.

Sleep separator

Found in rainbows.
Black and grey in-between.
Like the darkest deeds to an envious man.
Hidden in plain sight.
Illuminate with the perfume of regret.
Sticky and sickly.
It causes the teeth to itch.
And the dreams to flinch from yesterday’s call.
When will those traumas fade?
Never, replies the well in our soul.

You’ll see

You will see, said the little whisper.
The sound within.
A distant whimper.
From the voice inside the cracking skull.
The quiet reasoning.
The heart’s strong hull.
That sails beyond a galaxy.
Down here on earth.
In complexity.
These defiant words did manifest.
Into action.
And I must confess.
That I was able to walk away.
From all that trauma.
And sad decay.
And close the book of you and me.
A tired old tale.
Which you will see.