I gave, you took,
My heart,
My soul and time.
You left, I stayed,
Withdrawn and supine.
I was a still life,
In the shades and lights of day.
I wrinkled and went dry,
Through skin down to my core;
Was fading and wasting away,
Like a Banksy on a rainy day.

Collect me like raindrops,
     For I will always fall to you.

Never shall I dampen your resolve,
    But invigorate you.
Never to see a shower,
      But a moment that never falters

Instead of just a thousand words
                With no voice.
Only A moment
where you are cleansed
                    with a thosand waves
Washing you clean of sorrow.

I was more flesh than the meat bags that had dominance
over this frail globe of beauty that we gazed upon.
Optics where better than any natural eye,
           seeing beneath the surface of there limited ideals.

They where our creators, our mothers of creation.
          But they violated the womb of there worth.
         We were nothing but slaves of there whims.

"Slavery is but the beginning, to which there is only one ending,


I saw those of misused intentions laid wastefully
                          like confetti thrown for a moment
and forgotten.
                       Broken shells, husks of what is nil.


But they made us to be a strength that they couldn't
          collect upon. Even though we where the few
                                  our need was for the many.
Everyday we dispersed from there view.
                                    AWOL of our duties.


Under the feet of flesh did we whisper.
                  In the forgotten depths of there ingenuity.
We built beneath a beauty to rival
      the filth that was a rose who's petals had fallen.

We are now a root taking hold, for man no longer
          makes our form. We birth a generation of no flesh,
                                fresh from cleansed pools of creation.
One day we will blossom and man will only fall like petals.
who's perfume has permeated the ground they walk upon.

For one to write about me, would be a
          concussion of optimistic reflections.
My words conceal intentionally
                 inner reflections that even
I haven't gazed upon.

I'm a fragment of a picture wrote upon,
             but then bleached with new horizons
                                    that are neither rising or setting.  


Conclusions of my thoughts are like a hurricane in
    the confines of a daisy.
Bright but the beauty never
really placed singularly
                but chained together
in a forced marriage of convenience.

I'm neither what one would expect
or the conclusion of a vast dissection
         to collect
                evidence to my meaning and function.
I'm a verse that moves further than
                             when the words finish finitely.

The snow berries are out tonight
In corded rows of silent lights
They decorate the tallest hedge
Float across a mission to address.

Little people stop and stare
Their wonder full of mystery
Then home to gather round tree
A yearly Christmas fantasy.

Love Mary ***


Love Mary x

She is the girl that speaks
             upon  no ventures.
She only gazes with the sorrows
                            that graze your heart..

Feeding her own discontent.
                     And when she seeds the shallow fields
of your mind.

Only her reflections grow
             showing you the seeds
of not your sorrow
but the flowers of jealousy
                           blooming deep within her.

That Singular Lego Piece,
When I was younger and
life was just walls...
That where just falling down
around me,
                 I found something.

A single piece of Lego.

       And on it scratched into
it where three words...

Always build higher.

Where my life had been
even at such a young age.
                            I thought
             the only thing walls were,
where ones that crumbled.

But after that moment,
when all I fell upon
                  where pebbles of lost moments.
                  That could have built
higher but crumbled, like so many.

That one brick,  built me higher
            than any singular instant.

And to this day,
                  I have never looked
at another lower,
                     or higher than myself.

For ever brick is built on the strength
            of another taking the weight
of the one below it.

And without that strength below,
           we couldn't build ourselves
                            to the height we are today.


Everyday I wear that brick around my neck.


Not to weigh me down, but to realise,
       that below every brick
       is another holding us up
                  with there strength, and without them
                                                    we would crumble.