Feathers

Feathers in your mouth and blood on your tail:

I can't help but be a fool for the facts.

Immaculate paws point to faith I'd lacked

and oust me as someone fragile and frail.

Yet we're still clearly left with a dead bird

and its carcass conveys a carnal sin

so it takes all my strength from within

to dismiss the tweeting that I had heard.

For sometimes feathers are merely feathers

and blood can come from natural sources;

when careless suspicions run their courses

fearful minds can break free of their tethers.

I still nurse that bird in my gentle hands

knowing not who did it harm nor where it lands.

Day To Day/Overwhelmed

Wilted and worn                           with little want
from the whirlwind                      stirring in my bed
of a day to day                             overwhelmed by life
tilted and torn                              by a feeling of can't
from the neglect                          that I've been drowned by
of a day to day;                           overwhelmed by life;
an overwhelmed life -               a day to day
with much to do,                         with little respite,
there's a drowsiness                   of mal-hydration
in a jaundice hue                          and a lack of light,
yet I can't keep up                        with life to live
when it comes to you                   and sleep to fight.

Atlas Stone

Lately, I've had a boulder
that I've taken everywhere.

Rested on my aching shoulder,

it's such a burden to bear.

But it has 'come a part of me

and so I cling to it like hell.

I feel as though it could be

the magic caster of some spell.

But day by day, I've felt strength wane

and the boulder's weight's increased

until I cannot take the strain,

the ache festering like yeast.

And so I've dropped it from my arms

but it's landed on my toes,

which seems to do even more harm...

I doubt the pain ever goes.

I've tried to lift the weight once more

but it was too heavy to take

and as it stays dead on the floor

my failing hands begin to shake.

And now my shoulders feel light

and my skin's no longer cut,

but I still have these hills to fight

and I still have a broken foot.

The Worsification of Wine

The flocculent feelings of fondness

foraminate frost that had enveloped.

A flaught flicker in your eyes towards mine,

both intoxicated by wine;

I knew a love had developed.

The potency grew stronger with each pour

our pupils both dilated in awe.

More wine madefied your majestic lips

as my fingertips felt for you hips;

I recognised you without flaw.

The effects of the wine dissipated

yet those systatic sensations sinewed.

As intoxication was sedated

our hearts still both felt elated

by the love that was created.

Waking dream; Working dream.

Sleep steady,

sedated by the bright midnight

waking hours

find me heavy eyed

drifting into

nocturnal dreams

of existence,

reflections

down the darkest shard.

A luciform logic

malnourished by choice, working on caffeine

to hold a roof above my head

the rain already

falls too much

and the alarm calls

for another day.

Lost in the Lunar Lit Licks

Salt water seeps and spreads

through sepia sheets,

an owner caught unaware

by the changing tides

of the lunar sea

in a midnight stroll;

all light left those words

and meaning shattered

by shingles shunted

towards the shore.

The pale reflection leers

her flickering facade

as though luring the owner

into her sinewed grasp;

lecanscopy and the hypnotic

displacement of pebbles

working in synergy;

still he can't retrieve

those words he wrote

with an assured pen;

the night is ephemeral

but its damage holds eternal.