Does a soul have a soul ?
to whom should it blame its transgressions on,
when it tastes death, where does it look for life,
who will carry its imortality ?
for if my soul is left to wander,
should it too look to leave its form ?
in the darkest hours it too should look for light,
yet imprisoned within itself no light can be found,
souls within souls, devils within devils,
all is indeed vanity if this cannot be understood.

These tears must fall,
rain onto my pillow,
a lost sunset of a risen sun,
holding onto memories,
like they were a lifeless body,
distant horizons,
grey skies above,
staring into its abyss,
sleep will fall,
the emptiness of dreams therein.

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

Miscommunication is the tearful demise,
words unrecognized on a dark sunrise,
knock on the door of a hardened heart,
this unfinished symphony tearing us apart,
both reach out to touch the others soul,
grasp the empty space its secrets stole,
love lays in this old wooden chest,
so blow of the dust at your behest.

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.

Gambowling down a flight of stairs,
to the sound of cackling laughter,
why does the mocking bird mock ?
from whence comes this torment ?
it would seem that these bones are meant to be picked at,
all but the the most full of belly will take their share,
I can at least afford an affable smile,
as my folly takes hold,
the years do not quicken or make wise,
all still is as though I may awaken from a dream,
stumbling as it were over leaden feet,
yet do I never learn, nor credence sort,
lessons of life and the laws it creates.

Full to the brim with the coffers of iniquity,
yet thirsting for the riches of enchantment,
too many cheques written to be honoured,
debts due to be recovered at my behest,
I've sailed the seas of temptations tides,
melted my wings in the heat of the sun,
longed for the fulfilment of an honest wage,
would that I could indulge in coffee shop chat,
put all to rights over an intellectual cigarette,
yet here I am, morally broke,
no words in coins left in my bank,
to dream of dreams I now must rest.

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

She came upon a white horse,
through those dark melancholic shadows,
her long black hair glistening under a blood red moon,
the paleness of her skin reflecting its caustic beams,
dazzling, beguiling,  she comes for my soul,
the fire from her eyes burning my core,
searching through the dark folds of night,
she finds me and takes my hand,
it sears, it burns but I must embrace this pain,
pulling me from the darkness of this rancid void,
her great black wings shielding me from the light,
I surrender it all to my angel of the night.

Music is the catalyst of my soul
takes me away to that other place
girls I once knew,
places that I have seen,
angry exchanges that should not have been,
tears that were shed over things that hurt,
pain that left me face down in the dirt,
loves lost and loves that were found,
contained in these songs with their melancholic sound,
when life leaves it mark and makes me frown,
my eternal friend will never let me down.

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.

I hear her in the rain,
the black rain that swirls through the mist,
she sings me her songs,
soothing my soul,
glowing as the embers of a winter fire,
a shamrock in the fields of darkness,
she moves within me, I feel her warmth,
only she can bring me the love that I desire,
for it is only she that can quench this thirst,
all else is just breath on a glass,
temporal, meaningless, a tree without roots,
I hear your call my dearest, calling my name,
oh how I shall quicken and hearken to be at your side,
there and only there do I find my sanctuary,
my eternal rest, now and forever.

Rammed into an ill fitting life
like a cheap suit,
bursting it's seams,
it's ripped open fabric falling to the floor,
like the tears that flow from my eye's.
So here I stand, naked,
no more clothes left on the rail,
no vestiture to hide my shame,
just the coitus interruptus,
as the day slips out of my soul.

All we could ever hope to have been is uncoiled before us like a python caught in the mid day sun,
laid bare, a naked shame for all to see,
yet in all of this we bask in the warmth of our discovery,
sanctified in our own existence,
parity of the soul and all deeds are done.


© H V Swan

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.

Tomorrows dreams,
broken seams,
crystal thoughts,
binary noughts,
lust for life,
edge of the knife,
warmth of the soul,
colour of coal,
retreat to within,
wrapped up in tin.

If you could feel what I can feel,  

Sleep would be kept from you too,

Watching the sheep count my dreams,

Waiting for the rain to start,

Torn into pieces before the dawn,

Phantoms twitch into life,

They watch me squirm on the edge of a knife

Imaginary tunes ring in my ears,

Dancing round the room held up by strings,

Never ending words upon a canvas soul,

fluttering ribbons on a maypole,

Waiting for the clocks to laugh,

The mists of time choke my breath,

If you could feel what I can feel,

Sleep would be kept from you too.

Tip toeing through the shards of darkness,
ever searching for the surety of solid objects,
creeping souls within decaying bodies,
reality is what we seek in a glimpse of transient sleep,
lies and slumber,
the antiquity of numbers,
naked bones swimming in a sea of obscurity,
nothing really matters
as the last grains of sand trickle through the glass phial,
stone pillows await our weary heads.

Sitting in a pool of ****,
other peoples ****,
**** all over me,
I am nothing,
just an object,
a still life subject
art school joke,
I'm a mess,
a **** stain,
a fugitive on the run,
running away from life.

Your ambiguity won’t get you seen,
Us retrospect’s know how to do it clean,
Word men and bird men are exactly the same,
Acting out fantasies and playing the game,

Dichotic words you write of life,
of unrequited love and strife,
from teenage angst to aged woe,
you think your words will steal the show,

Dig a little deeper and you’ll surely see,
your arrogant swagger is not for me,
for I can see from behind your quill,
the Idiosyncratic, tedious swill.

You told me no one would come,
never listen to the voices in your head,
walk on paths that lead to the dark,
to the moonlit heavens amid the stars,
take to the old wooden ships,
ships that sail to those ports in your mind,
the vanity contained in your youth,
the way the curtain always falls on your truth,
smiles that hide in the gardens of solitude,
heinous streams at the back of your soul,
hands held out, make me grasp hold,
take me away, take me off the grid.

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.

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

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.

We are the ones who walk in the shadows,
hitching a ride on the coat tails of a moonlit night,
always believing yet always casting doubts,
frowns for clowns,
taking the joke an insidious choke,
marching in line to a broken beat,
song remains the same,
dancing insane,
wake up trembling to our new dawn.

****** up,
tuned in,
tripped on the up game,
out on a whim.

We cannot have the candy
so we ****** it from the hands of a child
sneaking away on the tips of our toes
watching from a distance as she cries a million tears
why must it always be this way
confusing the night with the day
cotton candy dreaming
painting the rain
ashamed of our pain.

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.

We throw lies into lives

like pebbles in a pool

watching the ripples disturb the calmness

then cascade off into the distance

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

© H V Swan

We are podcasts
reflections of the past
daily lifes for all to see
recorded open vanity
of love and life
and trouble and strife
all the daily highs and lows
the episodic side shows
thrills and spills all the way
what are you going to do today ?

When you reach that point
but the point is sharp.

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.

Insidious puppets, dancing on strings,
acting out my favorite things.

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 ?.

Why do we seek the image in the mirror,
then trust what we see in its frame,
the self gratification of the soul,
the ugliness of the truth it hides,
reflections of the things that we hide,
seeing through others eyes,
the belief in systems of lies,
throw the veil over all that we are,
taking refuge in the shadows it casts,
hidden by the pain that we fear,
imprisoned by the words that we hear,
take solace in what you see inside,
trust in the world contained within.

Gagged and bound,
gasping for air,
the feel of despair,
a small price to pay,
burning from the inside,
one way ticket, no return,
tears before darkness,
slipped into coma,
asphyxiation, the lovers choice,
soul rising higher and higher,
soaring to a greater height,
kiss the transcending being,
seek no longer to heal,
seek only for resolution.

Oh soul of mine to you I look
like the well-thumbed pages of a favourite book
yet you are nowhere to be found
sought your solace on higher ground

left me here so cold and forlorn
drifting in the breeze on this winter’s morn
caught in the tide as you ebb and flow
oh restless soul why did you go ?

think it vain that I wallow in pain
as you catch a ride on the falling rain
no quiet sanctuary for you to hide
oh soul in me forever abide.

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.

As the emptiness cloaks you in robes of loneliness and you sit in the dark, rocking back and forth to the beat of your own heart, its rhythm filling your ears like a distant midnight train clattering over tracks of pain, do you pray to your God ?
Sobbing out tears that shudder through your core as you stare out of the window into some distant world, memories coiling themselves around your soul like the spirit of some ancient snake, is it then that you pray to your God ?

How we love to paint with our eyes
pictures distorted with angst reprise
judgement made by a fleeting glance
media sporned advice to make us dance

Peel back the outer layer
as blinded faith to make a prayer
steal yourself an opended view
look within with thoughts anew.

Lost my way in these salad days,
started to drown in your salad ways,
this distance keeps me from feeling whole,
causing disparity of the soul,

Cordially invited to share my fate,
you didn't show up,  you were fashionably late,
Id packed my burdens in a trunk of desire,
but you stamped on the embers, put out the fire.

And if credence could talk and was given a face,
it would be my companion in this fall from grace,
but for now I’ll just accept my plight,
take a walk in the shadows, avoiding the light.

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.

There's pleanty of scope I hear people say,
scope for things that could make your day
roll it all out like a giant rug
give your shoulders an expectent shrug
not the time to reflect on the past
those fading memories never last
grasp your dreams by the tail
the futures waiting to set sail.

I saw a star who's name was liberty
I saw a sun who's name was truth
I found a soul who's name was love
I found a life who's name was unknown
In the darkest patchwork of night
I found light.

The quiet synergy of life,
the ebbs and flows of its tides,
the quietness of its waves lapping against the shore,
tempestuous waters crashing against the rocks,
its buoyancy keeping all afloat to journeys afar,
as the ancient mariners we must have faith in our vessels,
that on these waters we will arrive at our destination,
gazing into far off horizons what do we see ?
shimmering sun beams on the tips of waves,
or darkest of clouds that stir up the deep,
all will change of which certainty abounds.

The wind carries secrets,
crashing waves on rooftop shores,
whistling through the bones of trees,
carrying whispers of sleepless souls,
lost lovers names as whispers in the night,
swirling shadows of bending boughs,
knocks and rattles, tumbling shakes,
angry breaths on the eve of morn,
soothing sighs carried in from dark,
rustling leaf's do a dance of delight,
carried forth to slumbering rest,
so listen carefully my friends,
to the secrets in the hearts it tends.

In front of the mirror doing my hair,
It’s all in the prep work, don’t despair,
Soon be time for the big event,
all this grooming is time well spent,

walk like a robot, keep a straight face,
don’t want a single hair out of place,
grab the phone, yes this is the spot,
set it all up for the perfect shot,

try to look natural, find the right pose,
hide the blemish that’s on my nose,
impossible angles, arm muscles ache,
the phone in my hand is starting to shake,

follow the light, keep stumbling back,
I think I’m having a panic attack,
all this stress is really no fun,
but a click of the button and the deed is done !

Trombone faces, up and down,
the smile we paint, a lurid frown,
dance to tunes we cannot hear,
suffer in silence, courting fear,

Too much said in the darkness zone,
to the voids of chaos we are thrown,
with skittish punches we must roll,
the space between the juddered soul,

tried too hard to swim this sea,
to the moonlit shores that set us free,
always others sharpening their axe,
to cut us down as scythes through flax.

yet sentinels of hope we must remain,
whilst dancing to this sad refrain,
through the darkest words that spew,
look now to arms that hold us true.