Your face is so definite it can speak with no mouth. Though when your mouth talks, it converses with your eyes who respond with remarkable glances liquid up and down there are no vacant stairs, up or down. The staircases and rooms of your eyes are well fed, satisfied and busy with a thought for every life you might lead or could, accounting for every desert and rainforest, every empire, every sonnet for every, sweetheart I appreciate you.
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Child
And from my morphine stupor I heard noise from new lungs and saw small bones ensconced safely in warm soft skin. And a pair of eyes, the sweetest and most searching. Nursing her heat, gentle innocence feeling something so immeasurable and lovely and pure that I had little idea what to do. All light was effervescent and all sound musical and now all year would be a Sunday morning in June. Languid yellow stars falling through blank staircases of meridian blue flute my dreams within their plummet as their metallic tinnitus sounds above an atmosphere of grey evaporation and glitter fluid tides. They fall further next to me they land and to him I said "tread softly because you tread on my dreams". I want to sleep, yet I cannot -
there is too much to do. My heavy lids have had their lot, but this is nothing new. I cannot think, I cannot write, yet soldier on I must, the best of thoughts occur at night- I shan’t let them turn to dust. The land of slumber beckons me, I protest: “just one more verse!” Soon off to doze I’ll blithely go, Though I’ll do some thinking first. The water of the firth
Glitters; glinting, clean. Messenger of joy and mirth, Yet tyrant, cruel. An ideal place to fish for a young boy and his friend. They are seven years old - grinning wide, their rods well-tended. But, what’s that? Some money has dropped into the froth: “Fear not lads, I’ll be two ticks!” says dad, his boots still on. That day the sea played tyrant. Life was lost beneath the waves. The boy’s grins appeared no longer: his dad could not be saved. Silent sorrow grew within him, and pervaded every joy. He was no longer the same grinning little boy. Days of future struggles lay before his gaze. He could not know that after long, clouds do dissipate. True enough the shadows, gave way to blazing lights. “The winter now is over”, he said. His grin was bright. |
Poetry, Prose and MusingsThis page is dedicated to my own work. Here I will post all of the poems and creative writing pieces that I also post on my blog. Archives
September 2017
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