Contrast

 

                            Where is the line between darkness and light?
      Who decides which is wrong,
                                          which is right?

                                      Where is the justice, the truth or the reason?

        Where the betrayal?

                                          Where the treason?

 

 

Sorrow's Heir

 

How blissful ignorance can be,
the solace found in the notion of ghosts and angels,
or souls reincarnate.
The pain of normalcy all at once echoes regret,
and at the hands of reminiscence, turns to dust.
Now it reads like a blank page,
a vacant stare, a pointless rage,
and all that remains; a trinket, a pitiful relic of love.
So sorrowful a testament to the light that filled my world.

The scars of ashen tears that fell from guilty eyes,
are masked beneath a sullen shade of grey.
My soul denied, I turn my back on graces from a hollow,
a desperate, hopeless dream of nothing more than shame.
For what is hope when dreams are dashed,
and cast upon the jagged rocks?
And what is life when darkness falls,
and light becomes an empty promise?
A wish from lips that quiver like a frightened little child.

Now I am toxic, I prick the happy little bubbles of the terminally faithful.
I hide down in the depths just out of reach,
of those who fear being pulled from the lifeboat.
I surround myself with broken glass, that they may fear to tread,
recluse in self inflicted solitude.
And yet; I am not lost.
The glow in my heart, reborn each time I look upon,
the treasure that you left to my soul.
I am the heir of sorrow.

 

 

Woman In My Dreams

 

 

Where are you now?
Your tender footsteps once tripped across,
dulcet meadows kissed by dawn's summer dew.
Disney bluebirds held aloft,
your petticoat of  woven silkworm thread,
and by your presence flowers came to bloom.

I miss you so.
The darkened, cobwebbed corner where I sit,
and wait in vain to see the light that shrines your soul,
chills me with the rising damp and stifles me with mold.
A fleeting glance would much suffice,
and ease my wretched sufferance to that which I could bear.

I wait for you.
My heart, my beat, my dancing feet, all still.
For what more in the world can take the very breath from men,
than she who hungers for the kiss?
Whose tender lips of honey glaze intoxicate the heart,
and leave behind their loving touch, a want for more.

Sunset; dawn's break.
The darkness brings my heart to where it yearns to be,
for in sleep's realm my eyes can clearly see,
and to my soul's delight you show yourself and call my name.
I could not care for daylight; my slumber warms the fragile hope,
should life desist and leave me there, inside my dream with you.

The deadliest sin of all

Oh what it is to be human.
To be fitted with the means to know and understand
yet scorn the sins of lesser mortals
judged from behind the veil of morality.

Oh what it is to be perfect.
To see the ways of others through reprimand
yet recognise your own trespasses more justly
from a throne of high esteem.

Oh what it is to be human.
To elevate the essence of humanity to godly heights
and separate saints from sinners, as wheat from chaff
and render them apart.

Oh what it is to be holy.
To wash your skin with water blessed by piety
and through repentance free yourself to judge.
For is not conceit the deadliest sin of all?

Envoi: To err is human, to forgive is judgemental.

Simple Sandwich

Oh cheese savoury,

save me from the slavery of my grumbling tum.

For you shall be crowned in crisp green leaf,

and cloaked in soft fresh bun. 

Descent Of A Woman

Born of beauty, cursed by creed,
and cast into the labyrinth.
Natural in strength and deed,
but coaxed into perversity.

The lure of adulation strong,
too strong for prudence to resist,
then vanity becomes the norm,
the reason why she must exist.

Drawn towards the auctioneer,
and sold into a perfect vision,
conforming to expectant dreams,
she climbs the mountain of derision.

Too soon the clouds descend on her,
forcing her to lose her way.
Vulnerable to faceless vultures,
forcing her to fit and pay.

Visions of a perfect beauty.
Visions of a perfect form,
telling her it is her duty,
telling her it is the norm.

The shroud of pressure and the curse,
deludes her from the potent truth.
The ideal woman is a mirage,
followed at the cost of youth.

Pain and sufferance seems to be,
a woman's cross since time began.
The curse that shapes the form of she,
was manufactured of a man.


Beauty is only skin deep, but these days plastic surgery can fix that.

 

 

 

 

Hope

 

 

 

I long since feared the grey.

The wind and rain of drizzly winters;
and through my mourning moods, 
I've hustled down the slopes of tenuous frivolous hopes, 
to smile upon the living dead with loathing and a sense of dread,
that one day they might see the lies that echo from my soul.

I stand up once again.

I have stood more times than many, having gathered up the strength,
to see the world through lifeless and unloving eyes, 
but in the grey my spirit turns to mush 
and dribbles down, like melted aspirations 
for a life I'll never live to see transpire.

Yet still the grey clouds fall, 

I shed my skin and all at once was born again, 
but not into a better world no, not into a nicer place; 
and shadowed by obscurity bereft of any purity 
I saw the beast was but a frightened little child, 
still drawing from his mothers pap.

I ride the rapids to the falls, 

no glory from the beaten path, 
I turn to find the path has overgrown;
and covered all the traces, all the people, all the places 
and left me with no memories of my own. 
And still the rumble of the falls, draws all hope away from me.

I hunger for a sunrise, 

The dawning of a brand new day 
whose light and warmth shall burn away 
the blackened stains of life without a shelter; 
and succour me with comforts only known to those 
whose dreams are made from fragile faded lint.