The Wind

The wind that howls, is the one that kills.
Blowing through these bones, coming down the hills.
Picking up like the devil’s breath.
It runs amok and hurries my death.
For though I’m not fragile as a slanted tree.
Or small, or weak and feathery.
The wind that howls is beyond my control.
It fans your flames that are burning my soul.

Odium in the skin

That wind howling.
Striking the tear that sits on a cheek.
Like a queen on a throne, wishing to abdicate.
The flood rising.
Dampening a thought in the dock of the mind.
Waving from the higher ground.
Chisel your hatred into our bones.
Fill our teeth with words peppered in distaste.
Swallow and sink the weight of history.
The flames rising.
Catching little tinder boxes placed in fire trapped hearts.
Wanting the world to burn, like hungry moths.
The earth sighing.
Cracking from the inside out as it shoots through space.
Fading into time, like your lies and disgrace.

Reaching roots

How deep do these roots need to burrow?
While the wind of the world shakes and batters.
Down deep, past dinosaur bones and bits of myself.
Long forgotten memories and names no longer remembered.
Roots of strength, yet they strangle the small and struggling.
Little sprouts of new dreams which begin deep in the dark of my soul.
Waiting, for just the tiniest flash of light.
Yet the roots need to be strong.
For it’s much further to go on.
And this tree is desperate to reach up to heaven.

Zephyr through my soul

Eyes stutter as bones collapse. Black ink escapes me.
I sky dive in colours, shaking these sins off my back.
Feeling the warmth from within, as the light enters my skull.
Flow.
Dropping down into the ocean, where I swim to the iridescent floor.
Swallowing topaz and truths, shining in the deep.
The world tips over and I take root, strands around me taking me up to the light.
Shooting comets across my eyes.
Trying to remember where it began.
Climbing higher this tree of life, offering my hand to you, to meet me on its branches.
Like the sweet smell of the rain, I sense your nearness.
Wrapped in the roots that bind us and strengthen our resolve.
The incense of the Garden of Eden drowns you, calling us higher.
Smouldering in my soul.
Shaking off the earthen soil of the selfish.
The tangle that bound me before, I cut away with Isaac’s blade.
Sharp and ready, made from glass.
Cutting the vines that grew so ferociously within me.
Rooting my soul here with you once more.
Lifting me to freedom.

Hover still

As you exhale, as you sigh; we float off into space.
Like feathers in the wind, like vapour on a cold day.
Instantly present then momentarily gone.
We are static.
Caught between the back and forth.
Throwing words like bombs, and hurt like rocks.
You forgot to anchor me, or maybe you never wanted to remain.
We twist and turn with the breeze and the change in weather.
The only pattern I can count on is chaos theory.
Managing the unpredictable, practising my problems.
I entertain the ether to see which way the winds blow.
After the hurricane, after the downpour; I close my eyes and drift away.