24 May 2015

To Walk Into Hell

Beautiful soul,
You washed yourself in dirt and shame
To hide the pain, the scars, the burdens.
You laughed when you
Were supposed to cry.
You couldn't beat them
So you joined them,
Gave into the abuse and hate
Made yourself in their image,
And then became the master
Not the slave.
All avenues of degradation,
Dehumanised till unrecognised.
And now, they turn away from you
Frightened of the rage and hate,
Abused by the depths 
Of your destruction.
Where power lay in the hands
Of one so great, so beautiful,
Corruption has become the vein of joy
Shattered by illusions
By lies and deceptions
Foul manipulation of your perceptions
You have turned away from the road
To walk into hell
Smiling and laughing as though 
You have won
Yet when you look around
You are alone. 

20 May 2015

Once Upon A Cafe...

He was like a bold line
Upright and dark
In black and black.
He walked like a straight line
Tall and proud
Slim and strong.
He smiled like a curved line
Open and steady
Without hesitation. 
He had eyes like the moon shines
And all the lines faded to grey. 

15 May 2015

Walk On

Like a ghost in a memory 
Of a myth in a fairytale.
Being real
Takes acceptance
Yet the mind cannot adhere
To that which cannot be believed.
Loss is loss; we walk on
When the losses follow,
Peace stumbles and reels
And all that was solid
Drifts into mist
A haze that buries days 
Each morning a hollow account
Of time passing
Each sunset 
A final dirge till the next -
The loss of a childhood sister-in-arms,
The loss of the greatest companion
The loss of trust in a friend.
The loss of meaning when
A path that was so clear, so simple
Suddenly studded with sinkholes
Gaps in reason and love
Cracks in the earth
Wounds in the soul.
Yet we walk on,
For what is a path 
But where we must tread..... 

Empty Room

It's an empty room. 
There was such life before 
And now the heart from it has gone;
It sits barren and void.
I have tried to fill the spaces,
The places in between.
I hold it in my mind like a canvas
But the image is dull, lifeless.
I have no vision of the future.
I have no mark made for tomorrow.
There is your bed; clean and made
Like a bolt hole for refuge,
A trench for the battle.
But it fills with tears, night passing night,
And the stains never leave.
There are your loves; the small delights
I handle them with care, sacred relics, 
And they are silent,
As they listen to me weep.
There is the night; 
Longer now than ever, 
A great darkness that has offered
Solace in silence,
Till every heartbeat pounds through me
And I am a never-ending drum.
The only sound 
In an empty room.