Sunday, 29 March 2015

Reflections Refracted

The bus passes by
reflecting my visage in its windows.

My countenance shifts and changes
as though on a pond
disturbed by a pebble.
Yet the fish are still and placid.

The Beauty in Music

In every song I hear your name,
a melliflous frisson.
I pray that it's not just a refrain
but a life-defining reason.

For I feel that I have found my key
and that this harmony will not change
in all the notes of soft Ebony
together we have found our range.

Autumn's Brevity

Autumn seems incredibly
     b     r     i     d     g     e                  b     e     t     w     e     e     n
                                               and                                               death.


Sterilised and stifling;
Bleach soaked and hot.
I leave your arms with ailments
That before I knew I'd not.
The air continues to surround
I'm squandering all the strength I've got
So I stand in the entrance for a minute
Where others' lungs can rot.


To a slither of broken moon
fragile half-wrist
small polished fragment
of bone
archaeologist universe
dusting off his aged timepiece.

Folacious Memories

A life is measured
not by its number of years
but the number of souls that it has touched,
and just as a tree
may lose the verdure of its leaves
the soothing influence of its magnificent frame remains.

So folacious memories
will flower fondly even in Winter
with a deep flocculation of variegated love,
and those deep roots
that made such a strong impression, will long
outlast the Southern virason with the opening of each neanic knosp.

Friday, 6 March 2015

Of your Light...

That I should not find you as a mirage of the mind, 
a figment of my fancy
is a phantom of the finely fathomable.
You are a phosphorescent light
that undeniably gives both credence and confidence 
in the direction all paths must lead
through the blackest of nights.
To say that your radiance is a fallacy
created by my dark isolation
would be dim indeed,
and would disregard the iridescence
that outshines both the Sun and Moon in equal measure,
and has no need for parting shift nor break
for your light has no desire to spurn
half of its shine in shadow.

Monday, 2 March 2015

Evening Elation

Whistling winds wander throughout the cracks,
the crevices,
the in-betweens, in that of a wisp.
A wisp, a wisp of locks, your hair which lies above you;
possibly the only thing which does,
streams a beautiful brown,
baring your soul
and catching my eye.

They are gates to the great, gorgeous soul within you;
at times graceful, others golden,
but always in some way glorious,
and they bear the burden of temptation towards belief, which buries me.
If bright, white lights are to be expected at time's end,
they are to travel through your hair.

And I,
near broken
and cold, stand in awe of the smile surrounding.

Morning Coffee Breath

A morning of caffeine and reflection
helped to dampen my dejection
and stain my fingertips and teeth. 
But the tip of my tongue still blunders
 when my mind meanders and wonders
to a blighted and beleaguered belief.


Mild-mannered and morose; close to comatose.
 The only thing I could convey 
was a lack of confidence; and you your dismay.

Und wieder werden es nicht am gehen 
wenn nichts ab mein will konnte geschehen. 
So muss es sein; dieses worten mein nur sorgen.