the journey from white
to black through coloured cotton
returning to white

feet, hips, arms, eyes, mind
so much to be considered
in every technique

the paradox that lies
in TRYING to stay relaxed
slow is smooth is fast

that eternal reach
for perfection that always
remains elusive

your rage spreads outward
concentric ripples of harm
break the calm waters

the storms that you CLAIM
to have weathered and survived
are not an excuse

volition exists
in every circumstance, the
pattern ends with me

the raptor's talons,
dulled by time's merciless march
to dissolution

If I had to live
without you, all the best parts
of me would vanish

you are the essence
of what makes me a worthwhile
person, you show me

how to be decent
and though sometimes I fall from
grace, you redeem me

'love' is too small a
word, to routine a concept
to encompass how

you heal me, make me
complete, and lift me towards
being someone I like

I am detritus
left ashore by the ebbing
tide of my childhood

a distant desert
is not a prerequisite
for conflict and pain

Not all wars are fought
over oil, scars are also
a hallmark of home

noble sacrifice
oh how you must have suffered
when you used clenched fists
to make a man of me

old man, forsake hope
veritas pursues you now
and ends your false dreams

i've weaponised words
this is just the overture
to a reckoning

how long can your past
remain buried and dormant
'neath the soil of lies?

little man, old man.
I have come to square the tide
your flowers will fade

spectate from cover
talk a good war. suffering
by proxy is safe

falsified valour,
a place on the balcony?
little man... you lie!