Some whom you feel you knew so well
Fade from the mind, in time.  Why?
Who forgot first?  
They once were real.

Time taken is time gone,
Only the memories linger on,
And remain there in the brain's folds
Even though we become old

Let them flash before your eyes
Long before time for you to die
Grab them like the precious gems
That they are, reclaimed

I don't
understand why
my mind
drifts to thoughts
of you, in the
spring when I'm
alone in the woods.
The dew is on the
grass, and the small
flowers begin to
bud, the petals
slippery and wet,
glistening in the
morning
sun.
The birds sing
their symphonies of
praise, and the trees,
***** and strong, reach
to the waiting sky.
The rain shoots
down, and I
rest.

I picked a twisted flower in
an unkempt garden.
I kept it for a while.
Without roots, the flower
didn't last.  I barely did.

There were many  
flowers in my younger days.
I loved picking them and
keeping
them close.

In the end, they
all died or blew away.
I felt empty, blood moon
sad.

Such a young fool in
those sizzling summer
nights.
Flowers make terrible
gods.

Now the day is gone
and all I did was dream
I listened to the sound
of the day that awful ring
that calling that dreadful
pushing and pulling
inside my dreamy mind
and this body doesn’t
want to move
I think it’s depressed
or something far worse
I saw my reflection
in shallow water
that cruel shave
of pointlessness
I heard a knock at
the door and I know it
wasn’t you
because you are gone
like this day is gone
I wrote a poem today
but it had no spark
it was dull like a
lifeless star
and you know
it was this one …
Clay.M

I understand
the language
of sad mornings
I understand the
turning wheels
of cruel madness
I understand
because I have
learnt from the
poets the teachers
of sorrowful things
and through this
thin grey light
I can see the
ghost of her
flying like a
painted bird
I rest amongst the
scattered leaves
I listen to the
weeping of swans …
Clay.M