I was simply singing,
watching red poppies
in the field,
thinking of nothing,
just remembering
the sea of my childhood,
as Banville does
in his book.
How pleasant it is,
even in winter,
to hear the murmur of the sea.

In the pursuit of happiness
I found you,  but somewhere I lost me
You set my heart on fire
You set my dreams free
I loved our little chatter
I loved your every little thing
But now that I look back
It all just leaves a sting

I never realized when you drifted apart
I still kept holding onto the string
You crushed my little heart
And all I could do was sing

Sang the songs of my pain  
Sang the songs of my screams
I never knew it was all in vain
It was all just a broken dream

I have a fascination with
all things love,
Daydreams constructing expectations
and a daily need for a thing which
I have yet to experience,
It's an obsession which has
evolved into a fear ~
Fear of a broken heart,
of a lonely life,
of distracted dreams.

~ Funny my ability to
overthink.

.                                                  Inch by inch,
                                            cruel word,
                                      indecision,
         ­                       pressure,
                        spin an avalanche
                    around my grubby life,
              cocooned, cold
          my sight
        goes
      black.
A crack, amber light bleeds
into my shrouding chrysalis.
      I struggle,
        tearing silk,
            escaping
                to smell the sun
                      taste its nectar
                            and
                          ­        see
                                        I am
                                              a
              ­                                      butterfly.

Abandoned, Still, Silent,
only the dust is moving
dancing a noiseless perpetual waltz.
Here and there a mote
intersects the silent sun,
(that slips in through broken glass)
picking out the rainbow rays.
Just the quick perception
of mouse and bird
to observe the shafts of coloured light
that they do not comprehend.

Above the pulpit
marble eyes look out,
and stone lips
caught in the act
cry out
"Why have you forsaken Me?"
Immobile hands are pinned
out wide,
to receive the world.
They cannot open the door
but wait
for someone to come.

As the solution cools
the molecules slow their stochastic dance
and the liquid is less able
to keep the substance dissolved.

As a threshold is crossed
the power of solution fails
and atom by atom
molecule by molecule
the substance crystallizes
plane by plane
layer by layer
the form of the substance
gives rise to a growing crystal
revealing in its structure
the nature of itself.