The snipers rifle hung from the parapet
still warm, cordite drifted from
the business end.

It resembled a cigarette,
dangling in the groove of an
ashtray which was given to you
as a souvenir from a place
you had no desire to go.

And you had no desire to go there
as you had read stories of donkey
cruelty and the militias’ refusal to
accept Greenwich as the
centre of time.

Their struggle against the meridian
has been well documented in film and
prose.

Stories and rumours filtered in
from the hinterland, carried home in
economy flights from different time zones
arriving at the terminal, milling around the
carousel.

****** victim 4 lay in a forensic
scene, white tapped surrounded by
duty free bags, and the secret dossiers
exposing the militias plans drifted, blood
stained in the breeze.

the petal falls
like an angel
sent from
heaven
down to earth
the earth lay
still in the
depressed night
terrified of what is
around the corner.
the sun rises,
the horizon loses all the fear that
the poor night had obtained.
the ocean glimmered with the light of a
tranquil mood
and the petal lay
motionless
in the light of the morning.

Give me your soul.
I will lock it away.

To the depths of hell I will take it.
Only returning to give you false hope.

Give me your heart
I will keep it in my pocket.

Suffocating it until it loves only me.
I am your only friend.

Give me your life
I shall guard it.

No food shall enter
Only the worthless eat.

Give me you
to starve and hold forever.

Quietly killing you
thinner each day.

I shall win.

The many steps a man must take
can make one feel so weary,
but when he finds his feet in place
they'll take him on a journey.

Step by step they lead the way,
an adventure so profound,
but as you try to reach the stars
keep them planted on the ground.

'cross beaches, woods and mountain paths,
the routes we all must take,
we follow to our destiny,
but we decide our fate.