Friday 16 September 2016

Tokyo Moth

The homeless man heard a knock at the door
and his obsidian drive
told him that he was alive.

Distracted like a moth in Tokyo,
he sought any form of light
in the bitter cold of night.

His wings fluttered from staircase to window
and found alleviation
in hazed radiation.

His weary rise and fall began to slow
on his back with hired support;
the only thing he'd ever bought.

Now, this moth only had one place to go
and fell into the lure
of artificial light impure.

The homeless man heard a knock at the door
and his obsidian drive
told him that he was alive.


A request

I'd request
just a single blade of grass
tossed into our furnace
to burn
like the wings of a butterfly
ensnared in a spider's web
but remain trapped in a field which,
though lush and green
stretching as far as
my arms reaching out to you,
snuffs out any spark
before I even strike flit to steel.

Copper Pennies

Christen my blood in your name as
I try to lick it clean. It tastes
mildly of copper pennies tossed
into the river and it will
sediment into the rocks, and
one day you will find copper-brown
stones at the base of the creek when
you leave me here to go swimming.

Chasing the feeling of it all,
I have to leave, return to that
creek on a summer night.
Pause where the water illuminates
the light of something lost within you.
Maybe we'll find it after all.

Renovation (Lucifer's Ascent)

Demons emerge from the ground
wrought from ruthless steel and concrete.
A decaying world under their shadows drowned,
their conquest nearly complete.

Grotesque forms grasp for the skies,
Heaven's territory is threatened.
The old from consumption dies;
its ancient breath deadened.

Soulless galleries of glass now stand
where once stood old forma proud.
Gone are days of beauty grande
replaced by a more maligned modern brand.