like the sun shone

for you

Tag: Death

Unspoken

The ballet of death
as much as
the ballet of life
is sewn and performed together
for one without the other
is nothing but a memory
of that unspoken thing

and all together
we move through the rain
where bows and roses bloom
knowing that come too soon
is that, unspoken thing

we shelter our souls
from the rains of humanity’s
tears
hoping there comes a time
when she gives her sign
of that unspoken thing

our feeling hearts
our tremulous blood
our awakening eye

thine distant shore
comes to the fore
as we dare to speak

that unspoken thing

for love is nothing
but a coming together
of life and death

for without which
we cannot finish the poem

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Clouds without rain

Clouds without rain
evaporate
into ghosts

Memories
eroded and forgotten
barren souls of bleached bone

The immortality of time
carries with it
life

That, moment
when rain explodes
with pungent echoes of its death

That, fleeting moment
when
you remember your own

ghosts

I have tree sap in my veins

***

I have tree sap in my veins
Rainwater in my tears
My spirit plays with thunderous joy
as the sunshine in my soul
bleeds

and as petals of love
open and sway
a fragrant caress
comes my way

I have tree sap in my veins
Lightning in my heart
My bones ache for the grind to ease
as the vision in my sight
fades

and as the night
makes way for day
a haunting feeling
comes my way

I have tree sap in my veins
Birdsong in my brain
My skin teeters on the edge of time
as the moonlight in my shadow
shines

and as sleepy waves
roll over my clay
I close my eyes
to dream of the day

***

as winter rips

Leaves shiver so
as winter rips
as they cling to life

Birds peck frozen earth
as winter rips
as they cling to life

Woody blood slows
as winter rips
as they cling to life

Time is silent
as winter rips
as each moment

… dies

Watching the snowflakes

Silent explosions of creation appear beyond the window
as I listen to, or am bombarded by, the eternal ringing in my ears

Silence is an impossible dream

Watching the leaves in spring stretch and yawn
Watching the rose petals romance the world
Watching the beautiful deaths colour the postcards
Watching the snowflakes’ individualities show us how

Silent explosions of creation appear beyond the window
and here I sit crunching ginger biscuits

Silence is an impossible dream

Artificial Atmosphere of Civilization

~

Listen to, breathe in and taste the pungent
where once music sang amongst the trees
where once the air invigorated
where once eating was real
and where each was once one’s own mind
but now
in this time of greed, futile deaths, global one-upmanships & scaremongerings
and the religious balloonings of creation
we are surrounded
by an artificial atmosphere of civilization
where trees are shrouded in tentacles of grease and darkness; their songs all but forgotten
where our lungs are attacked on a daily basis; antibodies scream in disgust
where chemical wrapped food tastes of food wrapped chemicals; painful temptation encroaches
and where what we think, what we are and what we believe is no longer ours …

in this artificial atmosphere of civilization, where only the perfect make the shelf

; sorrow begets perfection begets sorrow

~

~

With thanks to Achilles Daunt for giving me the title

Ancient Virgin

The last book
found
amongst the littered remains
of a struggled past

a survivor
unread
unopened
an ancient virgin

devouring eyes
pore over

loving fingers
caress

pages flutter
with each delicious
touch

words drip
with each bacchanal
read

Overcome with
saviour’s emotion
the last book
found
crumbles
… crumbles
… … crumbles

no more books
no more pleasure
no more whispers
no more life
no more pain
no more love
no more joy
no more emotion
no more soul
no more words
no more imagination
no more passion
no more feelings
no more death
no more
… no more
… … no more

The last book
lost …

~

This was first posted here on September 5th 2011 (edited)

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