in scorched ground
severed roots remain
untethered tumbleweed
rides the thermal
on a heady rush to heaven
only to drop shattered
on the desolate highway
a once lush landscape
in full splendid flower
abundance freely given
but for one desire
do not let me die
for lack of water

If i told you i needed help
would you listen?
Or would your silence
Echo off the walls.
See my life is like a car,
Sometimes moving fast
And other times so **** slow.
If i told you i feel hurt inside
would you not just hear
but listen
to what i said
I need someone to care.
Im tired of trying to fight alone.
Im tired of trying to survive at a table for one.
If i told you
I cry all over my body
And each tear is a knife
And they are leaving scars on my flesh,
Would you cut me a bandage,
Sop up my blood,
Or leave me to bleed out.
If i told you
I was alone and my demons are taunting me
would you get me out
Or would you keep walking
or keep scrolling...
Im not begging for attention,
But one cannot be expected to be alone and silent like a life long detention.
If i told you
I was ready to confess everything
Come clean from my secrets,
Strip myself naked so you could see my imperfections
would you care even the slightest bit
Or are you so selfish
And so ignorant
To walk on
And leave this person to die.
If i told you i was ready to die
would you blame it in cliche,
Or believe it and save me from damnation
Its time to think.
It could be up to you
This isnt just my world,
Its yours, too
and dont you want to be
somebody
To someone?
I need you.
Because all of these "if i told you's
Are becoming
**im telling you

.
Alive as a stone is cold, frozen,
Unmoved as drying statuary -
No blood was running in my veins,
No song was sung behind my brain.

Was I black as rock in wintry shroud?
Was I a phantasm that caught your eye?
My ends were sewn, threaded with hands,
That room, with you, was clothed in dream.

And I slept in a loft that chastened all airs,
I lived in a box which you buried out there,
Out in the hollows of the winds and rains,
I fear I was dead, before we became.

Once upon a whispering moon, I rode a star unto Africa.

The land was hot & covered in ice.
My eyes were glass,
Ready to shatter at the notion of ugly beauty.
A duality that would cause the sun to tear itself in twain from fear of metaphorical & metaphysical asphyxiation.

Atlas of the world turned grey as dreams turn dust to shards of crystal liquid light.

Grinning inanely & insanely for the serpent spectre sceptre is in the house of sonic devotional Kirtan emotional Islamic Jewish conditional faith & faith no where but here.
No fear.

The sky explodes
When crying gods do read their own
Stories in nothingness & apple seeds.
Cyanide & Suicide.

Doves, black,  rain, ride.
Release. Release. Release.

I like pens that bleed
Ink that smears
Girls with scars
Broken parts
***** clothes
Stained sheets
The hint of blood
The taste of lust
The smells of love
Nights through morning
Mornings to night
Suns that sleep
Moons that dream
And all the pretty
You hide underneath
Those pretty
Pretty
Pretty things

Passed  a  neglected  garden  of  late.
It  seemed  in  quite  a ­­ sorry  state.
Some  men  came  to  make  some  notes.
But  seem­ed  to  give  it  little  thought.
Up  on  high  the  grasses  gr­ow.
Beneath  the  windows  row  by  row.
The  other  plants  just­ ­ cry  with  pain.
I  guess  we'll  never  grow  again.
They  ha­ve­  taken  up  our  space  on  the  ground
Like  an  advancing  ­army  I'll  be  bound.
They  are  taking  our  water  Oh  my.
As ­ they  journey  to  the  sky.
Perhaps  it  soon will  be  resolved.­
And  peace  will  reign.
Once again

Keith  Wilson    Windermere.  UK.  2016­.