I’m in a tunnel,
a carpal tunnel,
a tunnel of pain,
no purple rain,
you thought you looked smart,
in your designer heart ,
that Polystyrene look,
your pretentious Facebook,
but I'll watch you fall,
won’t answer your call,
I'll just hide in my tunnel,
my carpal tunnel.

Time cares not for your tears,
nor contemplates the weary years,
it toils with its prey inside its lair,
feasting on our pain and despair,

It cannot sooth a weeping soul,
or spirit dark as blackened coal,
it bares no comforting arms to hold,
just scorns in jest as our life's unfold.

Staring into the distance through a misty window,
hours maybe days, a timeless moment,
I thought I could see her face,
somewhere out in the rain soaked darkness
how much longer must she make me wait?
tip toeing through the whispers and shadows
drowning in these memories and tears.

We are the virus,
The disease ridden art of perfection,
eroded by a cancerous cyst,
turned a whiter shade of pale,
paper thin beauty in a beholders eye,
stifled laughs through blackened lungs,
drip fed tears through a wrinkled skin,
we see our dust start to fall,
prelude turns to interlude,
our truth and destiny,
the moth eaten robes of a transient soul.

Absent from all but the faintest of feelings
again I stare out of a window
its frame imprisons my soul
a fathomless stare into an obscure distance
as if I might somehow occupy that space
old photographs scattered on a table
yet I can no longer see your face
has it really been this long ?
minutes, days, weeks, months and now a year ?
the spirits took your warm embrace
so cold under the ground
know this my sweet sweet thing
the old roots now hold your hands
but you are forever embraced by my spirit
eternally dancing to our sad refrain
under the moonlight in the pouring rain.

Oranges and greens
go paint your dreams
but I'll wear my shroud
under a dark black cloud
your equitus smiles
and falseness beguiles
ashen faced frowns
on the face of the clowns
the paint that you wear is a thin veneer
a veil of crimson over all that you fear
so sup the wine and let it flow
for what you shall reap is all that you sow

Cigarettes and alibis,
purple turtles, little white lies,
see you fall on a silver screen,
a living testament of all that’s been,

caught your tears in a bottle of rye,
never ever seen a crocodile cry,
storms a brewing in an old tea cup,
stirred up the leafs, our time is up.

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.

When you watch it bleed,
thoughts provoked by unspoken words,
careless whispers,
thrown into turmoil,
vision so blurred that you cannot see,  
you lie to your soul but it already knows the truth,
blind gods and meaningless christs,
swim for the shore,
to horizons lights,
cling to the things that make it alright.

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

© H V Swan

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

I can’t sleep,
I can’t drink,
got to see a man tonight,
shivers and shakes,
imaginary snakes,
walls closing in,
heads in a spin,
body in pain,
always the same,  
I've got a need,
a powerful need.

Eyes like diamonds
contorted face
ancient fury
frenzied body jive
twisting spiralling arms
whirling dervish,
spinning out of control
dancing like a demon
he’s coming for your soul.

Spirit walker what can you tell
standing amidst us silent and still
weaving our souls into a tapestry so rich
each silken thread a story to tell
you catch our tears in your soft white hands
watching us weep in a fervent prayer
so many voices inside your head
screaming out from the bones of the dead
take me with you oh spirit walker
for I am prepared for the journey ahead

Her soul is on fire,
the heat from it taking me higher,
soaring on a demons breath,
taste on my lips, the kiss of death,
reaching forth she takes my hand,
leading me to a foreign land,
through the shrouds of darkened bliss,
wraps my spirit in an immortal kiss,
shields me with an apocryphal embrace,
takes me to her resting place,
she feels, she see's, she knows,
the ancient wisdom of the crows,
binds me with a seal of tears,
keeping me safe through all the years.

This life, this love, this death,
all have meaning yet all fade into the jaded darkness that lays on the other side of our sunlit morning,
touching the untouchable,
reaching through the veil,  
our dreams carry us forward as if resting on an ancient burial raft,
gently drifting down the stream into a unseen oblivion.


© 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

The sea calls out her name,
soft whispers hidden in the sound of the waves that gently break against the shore,
holding out my hand I touch the empty air,
it reaches back yet I feel nothing but the cold,
salt filled mist that swirls through my soul.


© H V Swan

Love is like an olympic torch,
it burns continually,
is never extinguished,
kept for the briefest of moments,
then simply passed on,
person to person,
lifetime to lifetime,
generation to generation.

Ever wonder my dear, why my tears fall down ?
it is because your words created gravity,
a field that pulls me down,
now I am forever bound by its laws,
in this creation I will wait,
the curtains draped like a shroud,
would that the faint glow of a sunlit morn be my release,
raising the corners of my mouth into a smile,
not this day, or the next, for everything is pulled down,
endlessly down by the gravity of your words.

If I was to gaze into those eyes what would I see,
diamonds and jewels glistening in the morning dew,
blazing fire as they gaze into a crimson sky,
the blood red reflections mirroring your burning soul,
in such vitreous pools lay anchored ships of fools,
casting off their chains , setting sail to faraway lands,
ghosts that wander through the shadows,
moonbeams reflecting on a porcelain skin,
beacons through the darkness shining forth on rainbow shores,
there shall I seek my sanctuary until mornings new light.

We are the tin men
never the thin men
we walk in lines
within confines
never to weep
seek emortal sleep

The sky falls down,
we try to see through the mist,
reaching out in desperation,
we touch the unknown.

That BBC accent over the air,
a beacon in my hour of despair,
Thames, Dover,  Portland and White,
the warm, soft glow of the radio light,
Shannon, Fastnet, Plymouth,  Biscay,
Soothing my soul ‘til light of day,
Dogga, Fisher and German Bight,
my only comfort throughout the night,
Cromarty, Malin, forth and tyne,
Through static crackle, his voice so fine,
Those childhood days have long since gone,
No big old radio to twist and turn on,
But I’ll always remember, forevermore,
Listening to the shipping forecast on Radio Four.

Thoughts touching on a tantric level,
pleasures unfold,
caught in a moonbeam,
ships that drift into a nonchalant harbour of desire,
casting long shadows over a rippling sea,  
like a soul caught out of the body,
longing for freedom yet cannot be cast adrift,
circling these incumbent yearnings are the great birds of reason,
awaiting to taste the spoils of our misdemeanors,
yet within this paradox we float on ebony streams of cerebral bliss.

Languishing in a car called desire,
reclining into another lustful thought,
drink the poison and do it clean
for in such things are religions made
or a nation crumbled into to dust

You say it's just a Jinx ?
the alchemist's last kiss
I'l tell you of a life in vain
struggling in this darkness
life lived in a Pandora's box
opened the lid in this misty haze,
just a jinx I hear you say
but I tried to follow the eternal code
rain down my face
not knowing my place
but in the last of these days
I found the code of my DNA
no more time to smile
pushed to walk the extra mile
now this jinx is my warmest coat
settled in to this dark Catacomb.

You give yourself to someone,
become entwined with their soul,
then have to watch as they slowly melt away,
like a thin layer of snow, in the winter sun,
in desperation we try to grasp the vapor
but it slips through our hands
and drifts to the sky

A carpet of grass deft underfoot,
like a huge grey blanket swathing the landscape,
cold and bleak, enticing a quickened pace,
Whistling wind wraps around me like a skeletons arms,
teasing and beguiling me onwards toward a destination unknown,
on its breath ride the whispers of forgotten lost souls.
The moon peers down through a silken scarf of blackened clouds,
Its knowing face smiling sinuously, as if luring ships to the rocks on a tempestuous sea,
from its mouth fall beams of light that illuminate the hills and troughs ahead, like a procession of flickering lanterns on a majestic parade,
Blackened gnarled trees seem to bow in respect as the coldness of the night permeates my core,
their dark shapes appearing on the horizon, like tomb stones in some ancient graveyard.
So among this swathing scene unfolding and with coat collar raised, I merge with the shapes and disappear into the folds of night.

Who are we to at folly jest
when folly is at our behest
seek we humour at anothers expense
whilst all the while we sit on a fence
grass being greener on some other side
now folly in us shall reside

In that moment,
descending into a drunken mess,
he tried to grasp at the moon but stumbled over his own soul,
what might have become or may have been,
ours is not to tell,
nor is there rhyme or reason,
for betwixt the threshold of darkness and a flickering candle,
the beacon to the lost is sometimes found,
inwardly looking at the reflection within,
not with standing the image without,
all is but a dream.

If we held an embrace under our favourite tree
would the moon kiss our eyes and make them see,
silver banners and sparkles in the mist
all of the darkness is turning sunkissed,
we'll dance our waltz under the crystal shards
amongst the ruins of our house of cards
twisting and twirling on the hands of time
as the bells on the clock start to chime,
peppermint tears over a turquoise sea,
promise you the world under our favorite tree.

Spinning in circles,
looking up at the rain on this dark autumn night,  
it caresses the contours of my face, like you used to do,  
the memories ***** my brain like a thousand shards of ice,
I was once a believer but all I have left is this torn up soul.
Used up wishes and unlit cigarettes,
staring at the bottom of a thousand coffee cups,  
empty like the promises we once carved on blocks of stone.

Fucktrums and tantrums,  
it's all the same,  
nerve endings twitching,
oscillating to the sound of your favourite medication
is the doctor in the house ?  
we cannot tell
damaged goods sent to wrong addresses,  
dancing with spectres in the shadows of dissolution
my messiah will come,
he will bring the black horses and they will take my soul.

She wants to be noticed and seen
he see's only from within himself
mascara tears run down her face
black streams that reflect her soul
he see's nothing but a flickering screen
she recoils into a lonely asylum
sanctuary for the lonely hearts
lesser things are left unspoken
echos of the voices inside her head
he see's everything but is blind
she see's nothing but the void.

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

Life on the edge,
feel the high but watch it bleed,
wind in the hair its the only way,
deal the cards see them burn,
burning rubber under a waning moon,
reapers breath on their necks,
see them in a neon haze,
their adrenal souls set a blaze,
taken in the blink of an eye,
two more stars in our night sky.

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.

Can you catch raindrops in your dark grey suit,
Or smell the freshness of the ripened fruit,
See the glint of daylight through an open door,
Whilst your busy making your plans for war.
Midnight debates as the world fades away,
Death, destruction and urban decay,
But the sun will rise and dance with the moon,
While we watch the dish run away with the spoon.

I'm drifting up towards the stars,
no one can follow me there anymore,
and although you cannot hear me,
I am saying in my mind that I am sorry,
for all those times I wanted to reach for your hand,
to hold it in mine and not say a word,
to protect you from the world,
to cuddle away your tears,
to listen to your every word,
to tell you how beautiful you were
those things you never knew,
how you stole my breath as I watched you smile,
how I held your things in my hands
how I never told you how I felt
how I sometimes cried over memories,
how I touched and smelt your clothes,
In such things are the foundations of a dream,
thinking of all those things that should have been,
for the briefest of moments you will remember me,
for I will be the warm breeze that you feel,
awaking in you a distant thought,
perhaps in a passing smile,
as I drift through your soul.

Forgiveness is like a pebble,
it skims the surface of a troubled water,
sinks to the bottom of the pool,
then lays dormant and silent,
the trouble and care that went into its selection,
forgotten and unseen.

Shadows and ghosts
they eat at my soul
to old to feel the kick
to young to feel at rest
symmetry in a crooked line
acrid water that turns to wine
a cold patch in a heated room
voices in an empty hall
dark shapes in the corner of an eye
wish I could get some sleep
forever in peace,
in the last of these days.

So Christmas is over for another year,
with a melancholy sigh, Santa sheds a tear,
cold and alone in his winter house
no creature will stir, not even a mouse
seeks the warmth of a flickering flame
in lowly silence, it’s always the same,
the incumbent darkness behind his back
the sepia shape of his empty sack
his crimson hat now hangs from the door,
the coat of fur slung on the floor
a furrowed brow is all that is cast
as he sits and remembers Christmases past.

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

Ripped apart,
feels the internal bleed,
soul sneaks out like a thief at night,
caught under the light of a full moon
twisted turmoil
flickering flames
watchman's shadow is on the wall
the heartworm writhes
no light of day
danced with the devil
now its time to pay.

Within this shell I shall hide
safe from all I see outside
the things that cause the soul to weep
by people who blindly follow like sheep
seek the path that no one see's
you'll find your countenance lifts with ease
all the negative thoughts dispel
when I'm hidden within my shell.

To dream of love is to find ones self
lifting pebbles in a field full of rocks
gazing through a mist of souls
searching through moonbeams
hiding in shadows that have never been cast
shining eyes through a blood red haze
drifting through these crystal days
gods that dream in the autumn light
slender arms on a  cold winters night
calm the rhythms of this eternal dance
as hearts take flight in a cerebral trance.

Rickety old bones,
carrying my frame,
dragging my corpse,
around in the rain,
flickering candles
dance in the dark,
where ghostly whispers
alive you do hark,
through the shadows,
where people do sleep,
pray to your god,
your soul shall he keep.

If I seem a little shaky,
it’s just my nervous twitch,
but I'm starting to see double,
double the trouble,

crawling on my knees,
Trying to find my keys,
Tearing up the carpet,
Chewing it with my teeth,

Laughing hysterically at nothing at all,
hitting my head against the nearest wall,
continuously *******,
I just can’t contain myself at all,

Sitting in the bath fully clothed,
******* over the bathroom floor,
burning my arm with a lighted match,
trying to eat my nicotine patch,

I'm loaded up with pills,
expecting some big thrills,
but I'm left rocking in my chair,
Its just my ******* breakdown, yeah.