I'm sorry to you
I would have been the captain of your heart
I would have walked moon-shone nights to see the top of your head doused with stars
But love is like delicate strings, managing to hold together the heart's parcel
In transit, through all the imaginings and well meant confessions
On a road never realised
On a thought that barely should have been whispered
I loved you, and my love wasn't fearful
But,
hallelujah I met you
And to my almost-lover, I forget you

© Copyright David Bosworth January 2014

I'm too much of a pollutant
for her love
Yes I'm scraping off into this recess
the residue off this past harm
it doesn't hurt, there's no blood
It's employing a sudden dusty wisdom to break down
and demand why God isn't around
to lift a ******* to the stars
I suppose doses of others' spirituality is dependent on the belief
that their god is mine
When everyone needs relief
ultimately it's a sham. But a part of me likes others to tell me what I am
-
Stone is stone
but it grows heavier if muscles waste away
It's sometimes, that fear of death catches us before old age
Drag me through the dirt, this knot around my soul
Irritate my pores with the shred of lost control
Imparted to me, is no hierachy to which
I'm bound, when I've found free ground

© Copyright David Bosworth January 2014

She must get offers all the time
Wishes from the bottom of hungry hearts:
"will you be mine?"
She looks the part, a million times over
Chances are a million, of being her lover
Try to stay detached, let love be a thing apart
From her immaculate face
Shatter it in your memory, like some phoney art
While she forgets
all your lonely praise

© Copyright David Bosworth December 2013

If you are the sun
I'm the grass far below
Awake every dawn with many miles to grow

If you were the sea, I'm the ocean floor
Aware of your presence, oblivious to white shores

And you are a dancer, Your marks in the sand
Your laughter's a lighthouse
To the shipwrecked and ******

the old stone washes up
and reminds me - I should hold on
The world's still calling me
with a familiar song

© Copyright David Bosworth December 2013

She stands at the bottom of the garden
a smile of dainty goodness smudging her chin, and a bouquet of
somethings cradled in her white arms
and she's a statue
There must be a still wind coming from the west
well,
I'd forgotten the sound of Voice
until now, when dinner wafts me in simply
~
there's an external source across my senses;
I only get so far before habit breaks the adventure
and I know the shrillness of my bark arouses the deity from her somnulence
I feel blessed, then put the silly escapade down to dreaming
But although I get something for nothing, she, who stood laying clothes in parallel stacks
Recounting songs from a larger world, to me
perhaps only belongs there now

© Copyright David Bosworth August 2013

I feel completely soulless bar a few bars of an echoey song funnelled
-

© Copyright David Bosworth August 2013

sundown
blend to bed
harsh plastic, things are undone in that interval called 'growing up
for piano turned to lines of wire
from love for you - wish me up a white lie   & forget everything we ever told ourselves
about us
-
the calmer aspects of the world
tell us to swim deep in our uncertainty tonight
the saner prison we were never aware
or obliged to
sometimes it wouldn't even receive a curt nod
-
so needless to say, fragile thing, when they wake you
from trespassing out on the moorlands
with your brain in tow or
gold beneath your feet aglow
a worldly & shaken grin may be enough
but I'd like to know you'd   been laughing

© Copyright David Bosworth August 2013