Silence is the comfort of a conflicts hush
silence is the sound of a dead crows caw
silence ain't abatable, so don't even try
silence is thy lord's voice and his word is law

It's unquestionable, deadly, doesn't care what it kills
a force gradual and steady, from the dark our night it fills
it reeks of loneliness whilst exhuming sweet beauty
modest and loyal, quietly it does its hidden duty

crying through eyes non-existent
it's love invisible, so painfully distant
all alone, comfort gone from that old favourite song,
it's presence tranquil, opening your eyes to where you went wrong

It's neutral, doesn't take sides or excuses
a poignancy so strong, bitter and raw
twisted, life and death somehow entwined
I gazed upon its face and 'twas the most beautiful thing I've ever saw

- - - -

a vision flickering like a fuse in an abandoned house
it's rooms gas filled, primed for explosion -

I sleep and walk amongst the fields of dreams
as silence drips upon life and starts its graceless erosion.

AJ

Caterpillars drowning in the rain.
Not your typical sundance romance situation.
Financial calculators,
Homemade ice cream cake,
Oil change 3 months overdue,
One of those museums made up of an old town where people dress is 19th century clothing,
***** martinis.

It's late enough that it's quiet
But not enough that is silent,
And I hate that.
The dogs are lying at my feet.
They feel like gargoyles,
But maybe more menacing.
I'm just waiting for midnight to roll around,
So that I can steal my silent hours.
Sleep is not the only way to recharge.
I guess the song in the title doesn't really fit the poem,
But maybe it's fitting my mood?

See you later alligator.

You are so **** and hot to look at
When you gorge on that strawberry
I remember the time you showed me
How you like your fruit to be -

You licked it making sure it’s wet
I gasped when the coldness hit me
You nipped and peeled the skin gently
My ***** heaved wantonly at the touch
You ****** with ardour all the juices
My mind ran havoc not knowing what to do -

You stare and wink at me naughtily
That devilish grin now you just make
You know that I recall what you did
When you tasted and I was your fruit

it seems came her

adrift on mellow breezes
faintly scent o' strawberries

red dawn golden lashes  in rhythms
upon a meadow painted by
Emerson words and Van Gogh splashes

so lightly afoot
so not to spoil any of nature

listening
relaying

being
her.

Perhaps comparisons to you, m’ love,
will be of such fluttering birds with their
silken pearl plumage; soft and fragile dove.
I would challenge those who with this compare.

To do so would create such metaphors with
something mild and predictable, delicate.
You are not breakable or dainty, keen scythe.
You are a graceful storm to not abate.

Mayhap I could liken you to a blade,
a dagger wrapped within smooth satin.
To a deathly flower; lethal nightshade.
For to a white swan you are akin.

Know that a dove is equal your beauty,
yet you are deadly elegance, truly.