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Rox Jul 11

Like a cloud, overhanging
the colour blue,

where we lie
maybe not,

those residing words, written out
after a night once again.

Left alone, always
the colour blue.

Draining roses,
in minutes staining

I'm blushing,
you're vacant

it's day again.

Littering nameless things
breath in draft

naked anatomy
sticky with vapour

and the subversion of
my smile,
inspirited between us

where spring lives
in the transitory skies

just like a kiss


The colour of you.
Rox Apr 1

The cold that wafts off
bolted broad shoulders

Hydraulic blood

Never does a pin drop

When a robot talks to me
I don't touch

There's never a glance into a strangers heart

For it
Is made
of metal parts

One could say hello
As one could say goodbye

As if the hollow chambers never echoed


For they do not stain
An imprint on my brain

With humans hands
and human smiles

Alone they stand

Where for awhile I could stare
And simply walk away
as there is nothing to let go of.
Rox Apr 1
Violet Valley
Violent Valley

In unison
a painted progression

Seen to the point of intrusion

In a cloak of mercenary wander
A violet valley
of a crimson dawn

Drawn from scarlet billows

Where I seethe
Into a prison I saw
A vision blurred from yours

Under the heath of an adolescence
comes a lapse of time
in a spiritless essence


Unsheathing itself
In the beds of silence
the voice of a cobalt rebellion

Freedom stricken
Gaslit onto your lips

The index of incendiary

Rearing fruits of wonder
Where knowledge is set without bound
born from the dusk
of a violet valley

No truth knows where it has risen
For curiosity is kept unkempt
inside obscure tides

of thought from yours to mine.
Rox Oct 2018
He lays
While the leaves sit underneath
the brilliance of sincerities tree,

and thinking to you
were all the things done by.

As it were
Pages left turned and inkless
What's left behind inside
the minds of an intertwining summer
a conclusion predesignated.

I saw to you,
just as I waved hello to goodnight’s moon.
As they touched along the surfaces
fleeting into the skin
A welcomed wound.

And didn’t you know,
That the pictures I stole
Of every point of you
Were etching onto sheets of heaven
into the reflections of the mirrors
that sit before your bedside.

While it rests
with mixed spirits,
the roses that I bore

Passing through glowing bodies
are the images you started to dream with me
while the silences burrow

A judgement left only partially bridged.
Melded with the manifestation of adoptions quest

And as the calls ring in secluce,
I still feel that this alley is ghostless
Lest this vase breathe the life
of unwilted flowers

where the flip sides meet
on the evenings tides
joined by charmed indifferences

in company with the character
of an old flame,
only tangible with
lights which lay ahead.

medleyed in to what's to be.

Thank you.
Rox Jul 2018
Below the surfaceless
looking above
under the furls of wavering clouds
all you'd see is that untouched stare
an absence of warmth disclosed
elapsing over,
collapsing over

Shallows edges so elusive,
as obscure as a serpents nest
anonymous as the rest,
intrusive like these dated feelings

and yet those eyes like minds wander
wonder as if it's ever been to lie beyond
those gated passages to Edens flowers
a pocket of hours been laid before you,


And the continuance to roam
inside of these channels
left empty and vacuous

so out of depth,
with filtering essence of memory
faltering lights of ambiguity,
letting the pieces drip upwards

you’re alone together with what ties are to be had
you speak as through the pith
of this insecurity,
the plight of this immaturity

a footstep in the waters
spilling from your tongue.

Venture from the beginning
a start to finish
as though time bounded in ripples
your tinted sight lines
undesigned and impalpable
even through strategy

under the palms, your hands,
the happens mind of another kind,
settling not in stones but
in sands
a habitual mess of ingraining
always draining and seeping

never enclosing,
fostered only by a feint solace
in the flooded catacombs of yours.

A participance of midnights moons
in these swimming conversations,
cycled discussions
the rising tides of snake eyes
with one onerous touch
submerging your voice

into a fragmented drowse

burning notes left from pictures
choking out all that swirls
the delirious magnetism of weight that pulls to you
creating an astringent terrain,
as your blood is spilling down

a pipeless drain.

A manifestation of ego's brain bubbling down
under the masque of self-worth and integrity
into a thick mud
painted with entitlement

across a dotted line

the deeds of your fascinations
possessions to another
inclinations unbeknownst to you,
against the black skies
opposing truths of deflection

you find yourself with silkless ink
writing what you think it to be
beyond your skin

and the closer the pen drips
the tighter the bolts become
on the grips over your perception
a darker rainstorm

straining out

Pressure slowly eased
into soothful washing
though cliffs eroded from memory

cresting the hall
that remains beneath

as a little boy
with glassless eyes
and a mouth full
of rose thorns,

Greeting you

To the welcomes of goodbyes,
until the shrill whispers
of the sirens of deception call you

once more

threading over your faces
elapsing the rims of reality,
overgrowing its garden
into a shipwrecked valley

warped by tainted reveries.
Rox Jun 2018
A man born without wings into the ashes of a forest
dead leaves and a valley of butterflies
Bleached to be ethicless
effortless as it is
To go without pursuit of question

A mind of matter
Wherein death lies one doesn't know
You're feeling all these expectancies
all these dependencies
Energy of yours, unhinged

The screens written
with the bastardisation of simple truths
Rhythmic as a creature
as spoken wavelength navigating
A wondering memory standing in front of the collectives

Transcendence above the impermanence
A palace on the grounds among us, but separated
dangerous minds of a phenomenon, in sequencing
Unceasing in divinity and untempered
by the indignation of his companions

Free to be, among the meadows of ourselves.
A tribute to X. My prince, a brother, a spirit gone to the wind but never departed from the atmosphere he breathed for us.
Rox Jun 2018
As drops descend from his face, rolling past his heart to be soaked up by whoever might pass underneath

Blanketed in a wispy layer of mist
he grips her hand tightly

Wanting to get up from the place he’s been anchored to for so long but not ready to
The dull sinking feeling that resides over him, pushing him further and further deeper

into the surface

These absent buildings clinging around only setting him in his place,
at the edge of perception

What is left of his mind begins to drift, leaching out like a plague of activity across a circuit board

And exactly like a switch, he finds something she hid inside of him
An incendiary note, left
Time itself seems to stop for a moment,
sparking from him

Setting her soul ablaze
so vibrantly scorching her existence

And so, I stand
In witness

Of such an ethereal sight
and see
just the smallest details

where drops turn to streams and paralysis turns into a rigid tremble

Managing to unclasp his hands from where they were
he shivers

Placing his hands onto the pavement
unfamiliarity seeping out his fingertips and spilling

the snow melting softly around him

Unknowing of where exactly I am, he tries to compose himself
But he doesn’t notice that his legs have gone unused for so long

Struggling to stand like a newly born lamb he stumbles
thankful for the absence of those buildings

His breath unconcealed in the spiritless atmosphere
Caution in the wind veiled by snowflakes


Just like before, the sheets of ice lay atop, varnishing what seems to be a landscape of optimism
Obscured by crimson flesh and soft chimes of melancholy that resonates within him,

a sun rises

He begins to stand
The mist circling his feet, trailing him as he makes his way beyond the buildings

Beyond the colourless town
Beyond his travesty
His heart still so sharply yearning for what once was but couldn’t be
to something more

And here I stand
A distance so short

away from him

in an entirely parallel world
Watching him as he takes the first steps out of the mist
closer, and closer

he steps

his face, as cold as ice
detached from this harbour
transcending gradually into consciousness

I decide to put my reservations aside and reach out for him
the light piercing through his lifeforce
irises so profound

an abyss of magnificence
alluding to what could only be the unfaltering desire of inception
the temptations that captivate him
releasing him from where he once stood

and so he realises;
The snow is no longer dripped with red
and it is instead

an eternal springtime in his mind

the new surroundings
curing him from the dangers of his thought
beaming with new hope

and for the first time

I see in clarity

an angels wings repair itself
from the depths of grief and desolation.

and then I weep.

For nothing could have prepared me for the sight of this journey.
(the end of a beginning to another)
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