prayer

Splintered eyes

rest in the debris of our foundation

shut

with an army of prayers nesting in its darkness

wishing for salvation filled fingertips

to caress them into the ether

 

 

 

 

 

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Shadow

I fell for your shadow

for it was her who laid beside me

as the mountain stretched steeply ahead

and the Sun shone down on your ………………………………… ascent

…………… leaving me

behind

with more and more dark to cherish

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Stolen Breaths

The sight of you pierced my lungs

burrowed deep

and left a gripping scent.

 

You smell of red earth under dark clouds awaiting nourishment

You smell of joy when a drop of rain meets an eager tongue

You smell of palm trees singing songs of praise at the sight of a new dawn

You smell of the hustle and bustle that pervades a busy market

You smell of the ubiquitous remedy prescribed by an overzealous grandmother

You smell of home.

You smell of me.

 

The sight of you pierced my lungs

burrowed deep

and never left

 

Ephemeral Beauty

Inquisitive glances frantically

fetch micro pieces of you

(Allow me to recreate your Masterpiece)

Lines orchestrated by (Welcomed.Unwelcomed) fingertips flicker

leaving iron eyes, winding locks, bronze lips and

(I press you onto my canvass)

……………………………………………………… not yet.

Leave no skin unturned.

Over to your perched neck (Too weighted for my hands)

Veering left, down your wilful arm, into the abyss of your palm

escaping right

treading light

observing your being rise and fall

over and over and over and over (i fail)

Emboldened hips stream to cascading limbs folded defiantly

A warming.

Shifting confidence, a smile bubbles to your surfaces, (do you see it too?

(i’m blind to your truth)

Let me) you lightly prop up your masterpiece into the chasm between us as

your ephemeral beauty gazes back with force (you… i’m-) shh… just watch)

failure

your decrepit old bones are a testament to your youth

Blistered

Unrelenting

Cumbered

by the near-misses and near-achievements of your struggles

(always falling at the last hurdle with each cyclical stumble

a drain on your drive a betrayal to your ego a requiem for a dream)

 

A eulogy of unfortunatelys echo as hearts filter out of your chamber.

 

strand by strand

your locks of strength fall on tired eyes

obstructing envisioned trails.

Fleeting

with splintered hands unable to reify aspirations

last century last week

last century last week

 

footsteps caressed the earth

a muddy marshland full of flora and fauna (they whispered sweet nothings carried with dust hurrying tomorrow’s homecoming)

 

last century last week

smoked skin of oak dirt dust

met forking Paths and Rivers

Lagoons and Lakes

with brethren standing ten feet tall

 

last century last week

Home was earth and earth was

all.

Provider.

Giver.

Taker.

god

 

last century last week the whispers returned

full of quiet and fear.

 

the day came.

 

It broke with white sheet horizons

Golden Seas

righteoussness

and questions questions

of ownership of land of peoples of dark.

 

Stories were told over fleets of food stories

of guidance

of peace (of conflict) of harmony (of war) of welcoming (of cunning) of flourish (of profit

 

Sunset soon broke and steps were traced back on forked paths to salty air

where the day had to return

to white sheet horizons

Golden Seas

righteousness

 

and We

it’s chosen passengers.

 

Loaded

A loaded heart

A loaded hand.

And in it lies a blank story swimming through stars and galaxies

hurtling itself towards this very moment.

 

Today is like a song we’ve decided not to write,

for fear it might be too perfect,

or too imperfect.

 

Raw pink flesh guarded by bones with silent melodies only our ears are tuned in to hear.

Steady.

Yet guarded.

Against the pains of yesterdays, todays, and tomorrows to come.

 

I’m no knight in shining armour,

nor do I possess the power or strength to break down your walls.

I quite like the architecture.

It bears years of attentive building, shaping, and molding.

One only gentle hands could dare to form.

Let your insecurities adorn the floors, and walls, and ceilings.

 

Art flourishes in the weird and bizarre.

And when your imperfect masterpiece is ready for its exhibition,

may your castle gates open to this humble artist,

looking for but one corner to sit and admire the sights,

till time dissolves,

and leaves the sky dark, and the stars loaded with blessings.