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Today is grey.
Today is cold.
Today is getting old,
soon it will be tomorrow,
but tomorrow never comes.

Tomorrow will be the same.
Tomorrow will be today.
Tomorrow the date only will change,
I'll charge my glass to the coming morrow
Same day same sorrow

Staring through the bottom of a glass
tomorrow is far away.
Tomorrow is not grey, but a whiskey gold
staring at tomorrow through the bottom of a glass
tomorrow is not old, just another day.
© JLB
27/11/2014
11:58 GMT
No host of golden daffodils do I see when I look around me.
Just the debris of a life, cut short by a knife.
I wandered lonely not over vale, but over my body
Lying prone on the floor, no breath does it host anymore.
My eyes gaze sightless into the distance,
a sphinx upon the waste land of the laminated floor.
My hair limp, not fluttering in the breeze, my blood cooling into a pool
my death scene, gives such chills, that renders even golden daffodils pale
Death does indeed ride a pale horse.
He shows no remorse.
Wilted in a vase, wasted on the floor, I await my light, my open door.
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
          And dances with the daffodils.
                                                              Wordsworth

© JLB
04/11/2014
01:16 GMT
Haunted, I see you in my dreams
Haunted I see you in the street
Haunted I see you all around me

How can that be?
Since I've left your corpse in the cellar
And I have the key.
© JLB
02/11/2014
14:44 BST
"Trick or Treat"
Clamorous voices demand at the door.
A cry that you've heard so many times before.
You open the door face plastered with a grin.
Wishing you could cull this rabble and stop
their screeching babble.
Sweets doled out,  "be safe" you shout at their backs,
after all you wouldn't want to be hacked by a ******!

Knock-Knock**
Its sound echoes all around.
You hate these midgets at your door
looking cute and asking "give us more"
You'd love to keep the door closed,
but well then you're known as the weird house.
So adjusting face and keeping pace you open the door,
only to be heard of no more.
© JLB
31/10/2014
13:16 BST
Dark is the night that woke you from your dream.
Dark is the cause of that frightful scream.

Fear comes knocking on the door.
Fear crumples you to the floor.

Silence is the reply.
Silence means they're nearby.

Softly creeping toward your room.
Softly heralding your doom.

Heart beats loud in your head.
Hearts that are no longer needed by the dead.

Dread and sweat pain your body.
Dread that you might 'see' a body.

Halloween that holy night.
Hallowe'en so full of fright.
© JLB
31/10/2014
02:28 BST
Hush!
You place your finger at my lips,
Mellifluous is the sound of admonition for quiet.
Blindfolded I know that you're watching, that
your eyes never leave my face,
your warm brown chocolate gaze grazes at my inner silence.
Gnawing mewling whimpers from my throat.
Your slow stroke upon my skin makes me breakout in goosebumps.
Shivering in anticipation of the next stroke,
the next movement in this concerto for two.
My pulse quickens as I feel a flush bloom on my face.
Wanton, springs to mind, and I want you.
Warm breath at my neck, fingers running down my spine.
I arc to receive all impulses that pound at my weary mind.
Just kiss me I scream inwardly.
Just taste me I beg silently.
Deprived of the sense of sight, I keen to each sound you make.
I hear my ragged breaths, I feel my body break into sweat,
lust is calling in the silence demanded by you.
Answer its call.
© JLB
26/10/2014
01:25 BST
Obsidian black blankets my thoughts and the night.
What lurks in cracks?
The cracked cement.
The cracked psyche.
Bats flutter in the belfry.
Madness takes hold, or is the madness masked as sanity?
Erudite my words may be tonight, but tomorrow I may babble.
Like a brook, black as a rook.
Why do these thoughts become clear in the dark?
Darkness leads the way onto a path.
Juxtaposed by the black night, the light is dimmed
Feelingly, gropingly, groggily I'm frightfully led.
To where?
To bed?
To sleep?
To dream jet black thoughts?
Oblivion, delirium, lithium.
Crow black is the deepest part of the night.
Inky pools of forgetfulness abound the sleepers tonight.
© JLB
25/10/2014
02:11 BST
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