The stigmata within our soul is clouding all judgement,  
a blood red mist casts shadows on our clarity of thought,
the clash of apathetic steel resounds out as we battle with the demons within.
Yet Christ is nailed to all our souls,
his blood falls as acid rain, acrid, vile,
tainting our vision,
polluting our vestiture of lustful thought,  
sanctimonious vibrations, sent to our darkest depths,
the spirit sighs under such lofty duress.


© H V Swan

What of life ?  
it surrounds us like a magicians cloak,
deception,
slight of hand,
cut the deck,
pick a card,  
confusion,
the illusion is complete.


© H V Swan

I look in to your eyes,
soul unlocked,
pain released,
drawn in,
consumed,
swimming in oceans of freedom,
never want to go back.

The cold grey of a January morn,
reflecting my spirit so utterly forlorn.
Was it pain I felt when I watched you leave,
or a chance for freedom and some small reprieve.

Only  Silence remained, as you closed the door,
heard your footsteps fade, like the waves on the shore.
Love never lingered, nor heard my plea,
it could only tear asunder,  in its bid to be free.

Now time owns my soul but you have moved on,
You embrace this new stranger and say he’s the one,
and if ere I wish the clock hands would turn,
to those flames of desire, where our passions did burn.

Now all I claim is this house full of tears,
with its memories and dust marking the years,
and my spirit remains forever bereft ,
of those things that you stole on the day that you left.

© H V Swan

Oh fly, fly, where have you been ?
a freshly laid dog **** or some moldy old cream ?,
buzzing this way and spluttering that,
spiraling angrily on to the cat,
bang into the wall then on to the floor,
like a mad game of pinball with a very high score.
Where next, my fluffy black friend,
a  slam of a book and I'm afraid its the end !

© H V Swan

Pneumatic bliss,
dissolution on a solenoid whim,
electrified soul as the tape ejects.

© H V Swan

I belong to another,
one who cannot be mentioned,
her name blows through the highest of roof tops and tallest of trees,
she whispers soft delights that resonate through my soul,
healing my wounds, making me whole,
her radiance brings the gladdest of tidings to this weary heart.

The compass set and horizon found,
our journey starts with a bound,
With Sturdy foot and hearty gait,
in haste we race toward our fate,
with silent solace we do decree our constant yearning to be free,
but the watchman’s scythe will cut us down,
before there's chance to claim our crown.

A house full of spectres,
a mouth full of rye,
left out in the darkness,
someone will cry.

death was a reason,
tears were for show,
once out of the bottle,
these spectres wont go.

In the swirling tempest she waits,
a spirit held in reverent patience and abandoned solace.
Just as it was always meant to be,
her ice cold hands reach out,
pulling me in to the unknown,
a void so willingly embraced.

Sanity for sanity's sake,
insane for the sane,
sane for the insane.

love once roamed freely within this hollow room,
now these walls confine me,
like an ancient, lost tomb,
tears flow, like blackened rain,
spirit in turmoil, head hung in shame.
I watch my breath through the stale, thin air,
as the ropes shadow beckons,
upon the cold wooden chair.

© H V Swan

Crawling through hoops made of pain,
standing tall in claustrophobic spaces,
Seeing through eyes, that see through eyes,
Taking on forms that transcend consciousness,
Retreat to warmth,
Ice cold,
Seek Journeys end.

No moon tonight,  only the depths of a fathomless darkness, pitched black,
and in such bleak emptiness, the sound of the swirling wind becomes my focus,
whistling through the trees, rattling gates and fences, skimming rooftops,
strange noises as if the nights very teeth were chattering with fright.
Now, the warmth of bed becomes my sanctuary, sheets pulled over a weary head,
yet within such secure confines, the nights rampant breath punctuates my slumber,
sounds of ghostly whispers carried on ethereal waves, names of ones long since departed.  
Sleep eludes the hypnotic lure of the ticking clock, yearning for the distant glow of morns new light.

When the rain falls we see it’s beauty, we feel its warmth,
the sound it makes soothes our soul and we sink in to its sanctuary,
yet in transition when the storm strikes,  its mantel becomes dark and forbidding, its spirit reaps destruction and ice like shards cut us to the bone.
Rain will fall, but in the scape of our night sky do we dare to call on its name ?.

Blinded by shadows,  didn't see the light,
Should have asked you to dance on a moonlit night,
never caught you a star in warm embrace,
or traced the contours of your face.
never ran my fingers through your hair,
or screamed and laughed like we just didn't care,
never stared into your eyes, as dark as coal,
or poured my secrets into your soul,
didn't understand till it was all too late,
how the sugar sweet candy took care of your fate.

Of all the fates in life we fear,
might be the loss of one so dear,
but what of life that causes strife,
and pain in which there seems no gain.
What can soothe the sorrowed soul,
or spirit dark as gathered coal,
bereaved are we who cannot see,
that at last in death we are truly free.

© H V Swan

Morning tears are the ones that hurt the most,
they linger and distill the freshness of the new day,
eclipsing our view of the sun,
causing disparity of the soul.

© H V Swan

Ice cold, staring through a window,
the warmth of a summers day, ebbs and flows outside,
time slips through my fingers like grains of sand,
constructing plans and futures,
fiction that fades into shadows ,
dreams that mingle with the dust in my room,
In resignation, I let the old ghosts ride my soul.

© H V Swan

Is it pain we feel when we gaze upon a summer’s moon ?,
I hear her gentle whispers,
Feel her touch in the soothing summer breeze,
She surrounds me, consuming me,
Her tears lap up to my toes, on an empty beach,
Longing to embrace her soul within my own,
hands on a clock that remain still, never to move,
just as the moonlight fades with the rising sun, she disappears.

© H V Swan

We choose life,
always against the grain,
taken in, savored in the mouth, then spat out with haste,
ill gotten gains, worthy sins,
blessings felt as we puke over a porcelain basin,
we are but dried out clay clinging to the potters hand.

© H V Swan

We are buried under the sand.
for us, no sun-kissed June day,
no moistness of a morning dew,
no soothing waves between our toes,
no jubilant trumpet to herald our return,
no voice to cheer freedoms new dawn,
we are forever buried under the sand.

© H V Swan

Tempestuous sky's so cold and dark,
where no bird flies save lonely lark,
'mongst the shadows, where coldness spreads,
stand sepia shapes of wooden sheds.

Oh whispering wind, what can you tell
of a life of terror and tormented hell
or torrid groans of sleepless souls
under public signs, nailed to poles.

Breath stained glass surrounds a child's shoe
an exhibit in a holocaust zoo.
Silenced bones can speak no guile
'mongst blackened ruins of brick and tile.

These broken spirits now must yield
to unmarked graves in an open field,
''O death where is thy sting ?''
'tis in the voice of these who cannot sing
and when we remember alone in the dark,
think of this place and the lonely lark.

© H V Swan

The dust settles, outlining your hand print on the bedroom floor, don’t want to breath, don’t want to move lest it be disturbed.
Gazing out through the condensation of my window into the midnight darkness, I try to recall our every word,  our every sentence,
whilst my heart beats out the endless lonely hours like the ghostly drummer on some ancient battle field.

© H V Swan

The clock strikes,
time stands still,
hands sweep across a moonlit face,
tears fall to the ground,
eternal rain on my soul.  
We kiss the stars and wrap ourselves in the velvet shrouds of darkness,  
fading into dancing shadows,
an immortal embrace.

© H V Swan

What is it we miss about those who no longer have a voice,
is it the lingering fragrance of softly whispered words,
the security of a heart beat through an ear resting on a chest,
the solidarity of an understood silence,
two souls embraced sharing unwritten secrets,
yet now all is replaced by the empty silence on the dawn of another sleepless night.

Tonight I feel her presence,
She heeds to the heartbeats call,
the candle light flickers with her breath,
The room chills in a balm of delight,
She is in the moonbeams that dance in cadence across the shadows of my room,
Her whispers ride the gentle wind outside,
I reach to touch her but there is nothing there,
only the tears that herald slumbers cruel jest,
All has been nothing but a dream.

© H V Swan

What of life and all that’s been,
Mine was stolen on a field of green,
For king and country, god and mum,
laid down in the shadows, never saw the sun.
100 years is mine to tell,
no comforting arms for those that fell,
I ask no pity, tears or plea,
Just once on a morn, remember me.

© H V Swan

We are such fragile things,
vulnerability exposed over single words,
voices, relentless pounding, mocking, senseless motives,
curling up on the floor, beating at the darkness with clenched fists,
subjectively futile as we grasp at the sunrise of another new day.

© H V Swan