With these eyes
I've watched
woodlands become housing estates
wetland drained
it's wildlife killed
fields plowed by roads
and hedgerows and ancient stones
torn down
and
with these eyes
I've wept
for the village
of
my childhood.

Let me be the razor blade
you glide across your wrist
let me be the bottle
when you long to get ******
let me be the cigarette
you smoke through trembling lips
let me be the calories
You fear upon your hips
let me be the mirror dear
that lies when you undress
let me be the meds you take
when your minds a mess
let me be the phone call
unanswered by a friend
let me be the tear drops
you shed at each days end
let me be whatever
it is you feel you need
coz I will NEVER let you be...

I'll always intercede

NATO confiscated my calculator as a weapon of math destruction

Or

Matches to a pyrotechnic cartographer are weapons of map destruction

Or

Moth eggs in the wardrobe are weapons of mac destruction

Or

Nuclear bombs used in warfare are weapons of mans destruction

Oh clockwork child with inkwell eyes
that penned mens doubts in promised lies
and watched as all that's born now dies
for nothing more than greed

Oh clockwork child with parchment hands
that mapped the hearts of war torn lands
and bleached the blood stained foreign sands
where children came to bleed

Oh clockwork child with torn page skin
that kept the scores of all mens sin
of wars they lost they could not win
as if they gave a ****

Oh clockwork child with gilt edged breath
who's whispers were the screams of death
that Rose the corpses from the depths
to herald the end of man

Clockwork child with neon eyes
you've seen so many things
the death of man and fallen skies
and winter born of spring

Your clockwork mind predicted all
but man was far too dumb
to heed your words upon the wall
and so you just kept sthum

Your clockwork heart broke like a Child
as nature payed the price
and now the dead are neatly piled
beneath a world of ice

*** in the movies...

often offends those
sitting

behind you.


;)

So slow the morning wakes...

stretching ancient limbs
to once more touch the sky

it's voice found in birdsong and in bark
in babbling brook and breeze

it's beauty seen in every scene and scenic view

life arising from death
as fallen tree breaks down and finds itself
once more a part of the forest

home to insect and grub

fertiliser to his fellow woodland giants

as once more morning breaks
with stretching ancient limbs

to once more touch the sky.