'Welcome Home'
The words wrapped around the walls
Like the bandages on my body.

I fell but it wasn't love.
Instead, it flickered to a bitter halt.
A once roaring blaze reduced to this -
Malicious antagonism wrapped in secrecy
That left me impuissant.

But still,
I fell.

You're on watch, you cannot sleep.
Torpor looms as fingers twitch,
Stay up, stay alert
Now is your time.
You mustn't give in to fatigue.

Sterility encapsulates the ironically termed 'living' room,
With beeps and hisses battling for supremacy
In a growingly discordant manner.

Until the living interferes
And proclaims 'No more'.
No more shall rhythmic tunes stake their claim,
No more shall the room of white become stained
With the pain of a world unknown.
No more shall men of Earth be lulled by your faux swan song.

Though, sounds of 'life' carry on.
"You're on watch, you must now sleep"
Purrs a cloaked figure.

They float and fly,
Ascending to a place
Much higher in the sky
Though little see how they chase
You into yet another cry.
But you accept it, just in case
You fail to come by
And deliver your final good bye.

Purple balloons soar
As he enters an endless sleep
To which escape is no more.

Purple balloons
Much higher in the sky
Coldly whisper;
'Good bye'.

It's really great to see you again -
But who are you exactly?
With an uncanny likeness to someone I once knew.
A traitor of culture and face.
A soul come adrift.
Where do you wish to be?
You've always desired more,
Yet I see your future clear.
An empty carcass devoid of what gave you self.
A voice soft-spoken and bathed in envy,
Lacking cognizance and perpetuating hedonistic acts.
A departure from your familiar figure with a ghastly outstretched hand
Requesting I become like you,
Abandoning oneself and
Embracing thy disarray.

The synapse in which both of You and I meet.
Though, no longer can I tell where I end and You begin.
An enduring connection of which escape is dubious.
Inevitability remains a common guest,
A parasitic fiend that clenches control
As You and I laze, nonchalant of the approaching villain
That of whom strides quicker, grows stronger, and wills to linger.
A darkened silhouette against our brush plain.  
Finally: It conquers us, You and I,
And as It reveals itself I see It's face - one of a cryptic familiarity.
The Unknown presents It's dominance with an otherworldly grin.
In that moment, I see what looms so maliciously.

I see that after all, It was truly You,
Rather than some unnameable Thing
Or a being higher than I,
My sunset plain was merely broken by You,
And You alone.

I wish I were a bird
Though not just to fly
But to be void of troubles
That is why

A shoeless man aboard an expedition into the unknown
With overgrown nails bathing in warmth,
Grasping a primordial camera, searching for focus
Amidst an evermoving piece of land,
Restricted to the callous one meter pane -
All that he could ever call his own.

Cautious gazing intertwined with
Tapping feet and unkempt hair.
As a poisonous addiction engulfs the air
Of which he thinks he can breathe no more

One last breath for the journey Home.

A blurred midnight blue landscape
Opens to you with a gleaming pebble
Of gilt and affection.
     As sapphire waves beat the brazen boats
                Bedded on shores of a thousand stains,
                     Encircled by nautical carapaces of a time unseen,
             Prior to the reign of oceanic potentates and
       The submarine souls which now tread
   Haphazardly, thirsting for an iota of freedom amidst
A home long since ravaged.

Though, memory resides of a time before then,
As the undersea flaunted its life unsullied.
The folly of man an ironic query
To which desolation retorted
In the voice of Another.

Your gnawing claws of ever black,
Outstretched to grasp the warm
Opening to Our heart.
Your darkened boots and pale face
Feign a pout as though to mourn
That of which you in fact command.

'Who invited you into Our home?'

The red stained concrete often intrigued the neighbours, though they unanimously agreed to never bring it up with the Atkinsons.

Surrounding the family of six was a woodland,
shrouded in shrubbery and
trees which seemingly rose upward forever,
linking the earth to the heavens.
The forest wrapped around the castle like a bandage on a wound,
isolating them from those far beyond the greenery and
obscuring the perfect orange circle which did not
shine upon the bitter Hold.

Copper walls insulated the cold heart of gold,
   with limbs of steel extending out,
touching the comparably icy concrete floor.
   The perfectly symmetrical skull of bronze contained
   an inhumanly small encephalon of cobalt,
packed with scarlet wires and a
near invisible flashing microchip.

Alone in the sterile room,
the infantile Adam,
now standing for the first time,
observed his surroundings as he further
         extended out his limbs – taking his first steps.

Above was a canvas, splashed with more stars than anyone could count, except Lorence. Stars shined atop the lavender and cobalt backdrop and encircled the warm glow of the Moon, with hundreds of thousands of eager eyes watching on as a blissful light danced across the sky. Most witnessed this display through their bedroom windows in the early hours of the morning, but some had different ideas. Some had bigger ideas.

The loud creaking was quickly subdued as Lorence, shuffling up the stairs on all fours, held a thick blanket against the aged wood and mouthed a quiet shush to the ground beneath him, as loud footsteps approached from above.  
“What are you doing awake?” Mumbled a lofty bearded man, still dreaming.
Lorence froze, like a prisoner caught tunnelling to freedom.
“It’s a full moon tonight!” He replied, far too energetically for this early hour.
“Alright. Well, get to bed.” His dad smiled. “And get that thing off of your back,” he gestured towards the bulky telescope.

After his dad left, Lorence’s mission continued as he waddled towards the balcony with his blanket around him and telescope clutched by both hands. The magnifying light from above entranced Lorence as he stood outside the balcony door, his eyes reflected the unspeakably stunning gig in the sky. A white light suddenly appearing in a nearby house broke the spell causing Lorence to rub his eyes dry and set the telescope down. He fiddled with it for a moment before peering through the fogged eyepiece. Navigating the instrument towards the window of the lit red-brick house, he spotted a white-haired lady comfortably lounging on the patio, fitted with a smile. Lorence then knew his mission wasn't yet over.

The friendly aged face grinned at the boy from her solitude, as she looked to the heavens, basking in the glory of Orion’s Belt as it wrapped around the sky like a bandage on a wound. She squinted, adjusting her eyes to the pits of black between the pearls of the night, and the eternal unease they brought on – the emptiness of her home a reminder of her perpetual loneliness. She dealt with these lingering thoughts through rhythmically snapping her fingers to some imagined tune in her head, her favourite at the time was Bobby McFerrin's 'Don't Worry Be Happy', which was always bound to inspire glee.

With a large yawn, Lorence darted his eyes around the woman’s house, observing the unkempt lawn resulting in excess shrubbery, the flickering lights almost mirroring her compulsive clicks and the unusually shaded mould growing on the side of her house like a festering wound. The lady, still smiling, still clicking, raised her left hand and signalled to the boy to join her in her stargazing. Getting to his feet, Lorence slung the telescope over his shoulder as he quietly navigated the dim hallway and tiptoed downstairs one step at a time.

Now outside, Lorence raised his hand to lock the door behind him, clumsily dropping the keys on the porch decking and freezing him in place. Realising the house remained asleep, he collected the keys and continued his mission.  As he approached the neighbour’s house, he followed the sound of the rhythmic clicking. Peering over the side gate, he saw the woman, still staring at the stars.

“There’s a better view from here!” She proclaimed, without turning towards him.
Lorence fiddled with the latch on the gate and moved to stand beside her.
“I didn’t realize I had a fellow stargazer living so close,” she grinned, with her eyes still to the skies.
“My dad bought me a telescope for my birthday last year. I try to use it every night, but he doesn't let me stay up late.”

Lorence, noticing the woman’s unbroken gaze, mirrored her as he looked up. The pair now stood, entranced by the astronomical splendour above them. For the first time in a long time, having someone to share in her love of the skies, the old woman shed a tear.  

The boy glanced and noticed the reflection of the bright display on the woman’s cheek.

In their moment of pure bliss, taking in the wonders above them, the world around them stood still, until a loud noise penetrated the moment, startling Lorence.

“Did you hear that?” His attention diverted from the sky.

Before she could respond, the noise intensified until it became deafening. The once picturesque sky lit up to a blinding white. And darkness followed.

Our fire's died out
since Winter.
    Yet the house somehow
remains engulfed.

Webbed bins
Empty leather chair
The tired birds who refuse to sing,
A lonely walking stick and
    The muffled cries from a neighbouring room.
Your bed dividing couches and tables,
Absorbing the living room
With an unaccompanied tick
    And a flood of chrysanthemums.
Bold letterhead proclaiming condolence with
    An air of regret of those who
Hadn’t the time
Hadn’t the chance
Hadn’t the effort
To for one last time
See your face
Chocolate roses excuse the crime
  All too busy when all was fine.

The more I look into your eyes,
The more I see the one-way mirror,
     Yet I dare to look.
I see my silhouette,
Though I’m unsure if You do.

The muted sound echoed like cathedral bells,
Followed by a hurried crowd
Of youngsters and ladies
Donning timeless frocks and shirts of old.

The courtyard green enchanted all.
Halting passers in transit,
An invitation to thy abode
Enclosed by young stargazers and aged bark alike.

The tempting branch reaches out.
Pulls you in with a faceless grin.
The torn frock all that remains in your world.
Timeless no longer.  

The New World opens before you,
A thundering display of welcome.
In a Time unlike yours
You sit.

A barren home
An indescribable emptiness
“Under development”.
A loss which lingers.
The air of pain.
Still, there remains
Something.
A speck of gilt
Serrated and luminous
In the ravaged pasture o’ emerald,
Murders of crow’s chortle,
Feathers of lark’s fall
Bodies of sparrow’s lay.
A display, spread uniformly amongst the
Blades of liquor-green, stained with
Unusual crimson.

Mannequins move when people do not.
The untrodden land a lingering invitation
To which a response is owed yet seldom delivered.  
Edifices of grandeur loom with open arms.

Mannequins move when people do not.
Hills green with envy and
A thousand eyes which blankly stare
At what dares traverse a land bereft.

Mannequins move when people do not.
Voices cry out in an unfamiliar tongue
With an intertwinement of shrieks
And woeful sobs that reverberate far beyond.

Mannequins move when people do not.
Vacant cradles still rock
Back and forth as they once did
Long ago when whines were heard.

Mannequins move when people do not.
A longing to return to what once was
Before the shrapnel had rained
And they marched, unashamed.

Mannequins move when people do not.
Poppies of red made all the redder,
And slanted signatures upon scarlet letters.
Yet, a lone gaze accompanied a fragile thought,
With sorrowfully spoken syllables
And pursed lips, almost hypocritical
In their aimless deed to redefine sympathy.

Mannequins move when people do not.
For what else does when people do not.
Mannequins move in tactless ways,
Not knowing of transgressions of past days.
Mannequins move when people are nought.
Land demands a usual offering,
One of which silence is futile.

The pail hurriedly fills to its brim
From a gushing river, pure and deep.
Unsullied by the chrysanthemums and lilies
Which encircle the babbling brook.

‘Almost full!’ proclaims the Lark
Perched atop an aged oak,
As the wet trickles down the bail,
‘Soon, soon, soon’ he sings his song.

Down flutters the Owl with a hoot,
‘What say you, Lark?’
‘With your songs so sweet and pail bursting,’
Feathered talons grasp the neighbouring birch.

The tinkling warble resumes,
‘Not yet full!’ the Lark weeps,
In a melodic trill.
‘Still. More must be filled.’

Amidst the river stones and collapsed trunks,
The pail sits, engulfed in the serene.
O'er the vessel the Owl hovers,
As talons clutch the sopping bail.

Suddenly, the jaws separate, delivering a soft hoot;
‘To be bursting is no more complete than to be hollow’,
Warns the venerable Owl with its warm,
Serrated feathers surrounding its pale face.

‘Well, when shall I quit?’ asks the Lark in a daze,
Raising its beak to the Heavens.

‘You shan’t quit. For we all strive to be full.’
Asserts the Owl, bathed in divine light,
‘The water shall forever drip in this stream, as it shall drip in you.’
As he ascends in a flurry, the pail too flies,
Splashing upon the adjacent foliage,

Now it rests
    Neither full nor empty.

I
Whether inner or outer, the matter is naught
Many sought after what cannot be bought
Though heart and mind is where it all lies
An impeccable vision beyond your mere eyes.
  
The signature mark of human kind
Dream and reality all intertwined
Cold as ice, hot as raw fire
Grand aesthetic for all to admire –

Seldom achieved, unable to build
Quenches all thirst, all hungers fulfilled
With all imperfections, itself so flawless
Rules are negated; thus, it remains lawless

Greatest of weapons bound by no defence
For it may be subtle, yet so intense
Partnered with love, a potent ideal
Beauty will call, no need to conceal.

II
Silence lay steadily against the barren walls
Aging wood, icy stone
An empty carcass rotting away
Unable to feel or be felt
                        Allowing nothing in or out
Though a poison seeps within its walls
Changing it, from what it was once before
Now wearing a mask as if to disguise,
                   The unseen horrors lurking inside
Goblins and ghouls are the least of your worry
For what lies inside is far more heinous
Beauty’s opposition, readily awaits
No longer a guise hiding the truth -
Reality is met with eager eyes
A stammering figure soundlessly screaming  
Hauling chains and a mirror of lies,
Though not evil, a choice in itself
                   Ugliness within can often be mended.

You collected what remained of Me
With an embrace too familiar.
As barren eyes leered
And spiritless reassurance washed over.

Your once crimson silhouette
Now a fading grey,
Polluting the air with addiction.
Engulfing what you wish to call your own.

My journey and my body
No longer my own.
Perfectly yours as you thief.
A victimless crime so you deceive.
Apathy a cruel creature.
Remorseless and voracious.
And so, I solemnly grieved
For what I was yet to achieve.

The call of the void to remain unanswered.
Yet, there You were to bring me Home.

As I said my goodbyes,
Exited the room in a haze
And hummed a mournful tune.
You lingered in the doorway with glassy eyes
And lips which struggled to perform on command,
A silent voice.

Outside, incandescence guided my journey
As filth cleansed my feet
And barren edifices surrounded me.
The rhythmic drip of murk from
Congregated puffs of white above blinded me.
As her silhouette emerged
Sweet as ever.
Bathed by beams of crimson.
It can’t have been.

You march forward. As though you’ve located your voice
Your lips purse and push each syllable out one after the other,
Your pacifying tenor cherished each sound, like all of what left
Your mouth was lyrics to an unknown song.  
You continued, never stopped, as words gushed like a stream.
I stood, paralysed.