Examine my gentle veins,
Below my subtle skin,
Fair and Ivory,
I yearn for you,
Your passioned touch,
Your soft, sweet whispers,
Music, music for angels,
Dear corrupted Saint,
With your fingers,
Brushing my tear-stained cheek,
Sing, sing my string of thoughts,
Entangle your rough hands,
Entwine them with mine,
And we shall rest our weary heads

I'm just trying to understand,
How could you go back,
On every honest word,
On every sombre promise,
Deny everything you told me,
Like they mean nothing

Air swirled by the force of the opening door,
Tousling my chestnut curls,
As I breathe in the stale air,

I am faced with dust coated boxes,
Filled to their brims,
With old memories hidden long ago,

Chills run down my spine,
Coursing through my blood,
I do not want to go back,
I do not want to remember,

But I know it's the only way,
To get over the distant, fading past

To an uncle,
My oldest, most loving,
Who held my tender heart,
Dear in his hands,
With skin like the leather binding,
Of his old, worn books,

His words of wisdom,
Shine through his humour,
Like the broken colour of a painting,

I will remember,
His st-stutter, his stammering,
His clover and fresh grass scent,
And the fire in his old brown eyes,
When he is gone,
I know he will be gone soon,

Dearest Uncle Peter...
Peter like the rabbit,
Like rabbits he hunted,
Peter and his cabbages,

My Old Peter grew the best ones,
With Sam by his side,
Sam who drank his beer,
"Good dog, Sam", Peter said,
He barely gets a word out now,
His voice rusty, unused,
Like the garden tools will be,
When Peter is gone

Sunlight, dawning beyond the platform,
Pink and gold harmonies,
I look down,
At the train tracks,

Gravel, lost between the rails,
Humble wooden planks,
Aging silently,
I wonder if I could walk on them,
With the dancing autumn leaves,

Couldn't I just jump,
I could lay down on them,
No goodbyes, no second thoughts,
And take one last breathe...
I take a step to the edge,

The ground shudders,
As if in disagreement
Train racing round the bend,
My one hope,
My small window of opportunity,
Gone,
As I leave this town behind,
On my train

Out the window,
Sunshine, far away,
The humble branch of the blossom tree,
Peeks in to witness my lonely slumber,

I wake at the sound,
Of the fragile harmonies,
That of the Nightingale,

She sings a home-sick melody,
As the moon falls,
Leaving her in his wake

Never have I remembered,
Happiness,
Real Happiness,
Under your overwhelming authority,
The seeds of Joy,
Have failed me,
Left me cold and hopeless,

You over-power loving memories,
With sharp, hateful remarks,
I doubt your passion,
I doubt your sympathetic words,
Rare as they are,

I look up to you,
As every other child looks up to their parents,
But I do not see pride or love,
In your eyes,
I see bitterness,
Seeping through the kind gaze,

When others look to you,
They may be blind,
But I have seen the ice,
Beyond the friendly charade,

It will never leave my mind,
This heart-wrenching memory