New Soul

March 2, 2013

In the half-light born,
a brand new soul
to a dying world.
Shadows over soft blue eyes,
looking to a future
no one chose.
Once,
such events were celebrated:
a fresh-lit flame,
a beacon of love,
a bundle of joy.
But this is a changed world.
One in which new parents
feel only apologetic–
where birth is mourned,
and death yearned for.

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Slave

January 6, 2013

Never let them get to you
let your passion burn.
Even though they shackle you,
it’s what you choose to feel that’s true;
keep your mind away from them
and deep inside, you shall have freedom.

Keep on keeping on,
dance your dance,
sing your song,
move your merry self along.

But resolve grows thin and short
and time is tough and long.

You let them take your soul
so you belong
and never look them in the eye
never yours to reason why
just do as you are told
getting busy growing old.

Get on getting on,
play your game,
sharpen your tongue,
move your wicked self along.

Oh how time has weakened you,
when you were once so strong.

The Sun, a Ballade

April 8, 2012

No campaign could ever convince
no brave prophet, however bold
could share what his dreams did evince
Never believed though we were told
that man would ever lose his hold,
that control could ever be won.
Never believed we’d feel this cold:
The great erasure of the sun.

We tore up all offending prints
burned the heretic books of old
cast their writers out as cretins
swore as one, we would never fold
that we would never be cajoled
we believed it could not be done,
a story we wouldn’t be sold:
The great erasure of the sun.

But O, for all those ignored hints,
the day it came, the sky burned gold,
the sun burst with one final glint
flaming rains fell, the sky it rolled
lightning struck, booming thunder growled
the omen of the fallen one
coming down to collect our souls,
The great erasure of the sun.

When will you come to us, O Prince,
keeper of night, when will you come?
We wait for you here, have been since
The great erasure of the sun.

 

Originally posted in Form Focus at poetry-here-and-now.

Lullaby (Unfinished?)

March 21, 2012

I’ll sing you a dream
if you’ll listen to me;
I’ll make it a good one,
just wait and see.
I’ll whisper a nightmare
into your ear
and send you to bed
with your greatest fears –
I’ll follow you down
into slumber so deep
and toy with your mind
as you restlessly sleep
and when you awake
in the pitch black of night –
cold sweats and shallow breath –
I’ll torture you from the shadows
with blood-chilling fright.

xxvi. Climbing Back

April 18, 2011

Sometimes,
the easiest thing to do is to just let go;
let your fingers loosen;
let your grip undo;
let yourself… fall.

Sometimes,
The darkness down below is so much more comforting
than the light above.
The sun rises –
the sun falls
but the darkness is constant.

Sometimes,
in the dark you can feel so at one with yourself,
when in the light
you feel alone,
you feel lost.
In the dark there is no alone; there is nothing.

Sometimes,
the path just feels too long no matter how far you have come.
In the dark,
there is nowhere to go,
nothing to look back on,
only the moment and eternity as one.

Sometimes,
the darkness is a place to go to leave the world behind,
to catch your breath,
to bear up,
to get back on your feet,
so that you are ready to face the light again.

Sometimes,
the darkness is the only place that you can feel strong
but do not let the darkness become your home;
find the strength
to climb back
for the light is life and the dark is a hellish place once your eyes adjust.

 

 

Originally written for the @PoetsHereandNow forum, linked here.

xiii. Inside

January 16, 2011

He remembers the colour of happier times;
The feeling of joy and celebration.
He remembers when life was easier;
When his days were filled with laughter.

It’s been a long time since those days,
And now he is a broken man.
There’s not much left of who he was;
It faded into blackness long ago.

Now and then the light leaks in.
A smile might catch him off guard,
And he thinks of when he used to smile,
But there’s nothing for the light to shine on anymore.

All that’s left of him is an empty shell,
Encasing a bitter and a fragile world,
Home to years of stunted growth,
Where rust and slow decay reign.

It has been dark for far too long,
And nothing has survived of the man,
But a barren landscape starved of love –
Cold and dry; Dead and empty.

The people outside wouldn’t know.
He’s strong; he never let’s it show,
But if anybody cared to look into his eyes,
They’d see only emptiness.

No one ever gets close enough anyway.
It’s been so long since they have;
So long since he’s let anyone near,
And so long since he’s felt human.

Now, he doesn’t know what he is.
He knows what it means to be human.
He still remembers what it was like,
But he just can’t feel anything anymore.

In that way, he sometimes thinks he’s lucky.
The shadows stifled his laughter, yes,
But they also killed his sadness, his anger;
Everything he ever felt has long since gone.

So now he floats around this world,
Keeping the world inside him hidden.
The world of destruction that he carries,
This is the world where he really lives.

A vast landscape that stretches on forever,
With nothing on the horizon but a dark halo,
Where everything that once made him who he was,
Slowly crumbles and turns to dust.

Chilling winds whistle around the wastes of his soul,
And carry only more emptiness on their squall,
Seeking any last vestiges of lingering life,
And eroding anything they find in the desert they have left.

But still he walks among the rest of us,
His beating heart the only way in which he is alive;
The shadows across his face, a mere glimpse,
Of the endless darkness he has within.

ii. Come Mourning

January 2, 2011

The curtain cracked, the light blazed in;
At first his eyes screamed at the burn.
He closed them tight against the glare,
And took some time that they adjust.

He saw her now, all bathed in gold,
Her long legs crossed and one arm
Wrapped around her chest so that,
She might preserve some modesty.

It struck him odd that she would care,
With what they’d done just hours before
And yet he understood at once –
The girl last night had not been her.

He took her in, from feet to hair,
And it was clear that she’d transformed.
The dark had given her a veil,
A barrier between the two.

So radiant her beauty, now,
As morning light dispelled this shroud,
He felt guilt flare up deep inside,
For all the sin he’d dressed her with.

Her face showed not a single hint,
Of demons that she carried with,
Or of the animal inside –
Kept under heavy lock and key.

For last night that’s what he had seen,
Not the innocent before him here,
But wild, impassioned, brazen lust.
He did not recognise her now.

The flames of guilt enveloped him,
And he was forced to look away.
He searched the bed and then the floor,
To find the clothes that hours before,

He’d torn from her and cast aside.
He found a shirt, his own for now,
And gave it her to cover up.
She took it with a silent smile.

She looked at him and smiled again,
Their eyes now met, the first time since,
She’d looked up at him in the dark,
And pulled their naked bodies close.

His back was scratched; he felt the raw
Tracks that she’d carved into his skin.
Then as she turned to find more clothes,
He saw where he had marked her, too:

His brand was seared into her cheek.
The red teeth marks looked deep, he thought.
He wondered if his bite had hurt;
He wondered if she felt it still.

She pulled on jeans and it was gone,
The only telltale sign she bore,
That chastity and self-control,
Had been unbuttoned in the night.

She let the curtain fall once more
Across the window, blocking light;
The shadows rushed back to the room,
An echo of the night now gone.

He watched her pick her underwear
From off the floor and carry it
Into his en suite bathroom, where
He heard her cleanse herself of him.

She came back in the room, now clothed.
She gave another nervous smile,
This one directed at the floor.
She slid her feet into her shoes.

She stood now at his bedside, shy.
She did not look at him, stretched out,
Atop the sheets. A pause, a frown,
Her lips began to part, then no.

Without a word she turned from him,
And walked toward the bedroom door.
She left him lying there alone,
And though he’d known that she would go,

He felt an awful sense of loss.
Bereft not just because she’d left,
But for the innocence he felt,
He’d broken while she had been his.