As a kid time wasn't the same,
a day feelt like forever
and everything was a game.

Now I'm a ****** up adult,
in a world fast and insane,
the game now feels so occult.
Why does everything feel so strange?

Life feels like a weird insult.
Why did all things have to change?
Change is good they'll say to me,
but my craving still remains.

What's inside your heart,
Is a secret between you and God,
You hide your flaws from the world,
By wearing a mask of peace and love ,
Waiting to be understood by someone,
No one knows If you are crying,
But you can't hide it from yourself,
flaws  are  meant  to  make  you  perf­ect ,
God wants you to throw the mask away,
To let them see the real  you ,
Because for your God you are Perfect .

Stamping his heart
with love and a kiss.
Signing his neck with
her tongue and a couple
of licks. Writing poetry
on his flesh with little
vampire bites. That's
how she writes down
her signature on the love
of her life's smooth
delicate coffee coloured
skin* ~

~

with instinctive
eye she finds
the hollow of the tree,
a place in magic steeped;
and with reach of heart
she lifts out
the stuff of sleepy dreams -
a rainbow-riding unicorn,
an elven-speaking gnome,
an angel in a hurricane.
each speaks to her in tone,
and though each is but a wisp
of what she’s dreamed and wished,
yet each is emblemic,
wholly authentic,
in thought is cathartic
and in mem’ry angelic.
for written words
are the whispers
that speak in the dark;
and poetry the blade
that tears open the heart;
but dreams...
these come from places
held deeply within,
from childhood fantasy
blended with memory;
these are hope’s grief,
tomorrow’s pain,
for answers through loss,
her innermost cry;
her soul searching again,
for it is she that we hear
weeping at night.

~

*post script.

blended thoughts inspired by two grieving mothers -
one’s post of a tree hollow discovered and
another's weeping as she packs up Christmas,
while listening to her lost son’s music.

wishing them each peace, answers that satisfy and... sleep.