One step forward, three steps back.
The queue shuffles,
visible breath in the winter blue.
The vendor vends,
fingerless gloves clamp the steaming mug.
Grunts and groans alike,
the warmth fills the withered corpses pale.

A gaze is cast,
into the misty nothing that inhabits the park.
A twitter is heard amongst the frosty masts.

Eyes meet with a rufescent-chested bird.

These same eyes are then met with salt,
a sorrow, a pang of jealousy.
A sheer longing for that same freedom.

Steam escapes the surface
Of infant mince pies.
It spirals upwards, dancing
Into the winter haze
Where headlights, opaquely visible,
Fight the fog.

The mist flurries atop the frozen pond,
Over brittle leaves, half caught.
The deer nuzzles in frosty thickets,
Searching the winter veil
For stray nut.

‘neath the tap my hands endure
The bitter cold of winter’s water;
But happily I return to my window,
And cast a gaze once more on winter Britain.
The fire leaves a smoky essence,
A homely smell.
December come.

I wish that I could eradicate my fears.
Crush them into dust in my hands.
Tilt my palm to the ground.
And let them be picked up by the wind
That spreads them out into tiny,
Tiny little things.
Unimportant and easily forgotten.
My ashes that lay in my head & my heart.
Made from a terrible fire inside.
That has burned down all the nerves.
Numbing me and isolating me from what I love.
If I could just tip my head to the side.
Shake them out of their hiding place.
And put them against my skin.
Then let them go away forever.
With tranquility overwhelming their place.

Times been tough on you
Oooohhhh I know it
I can tell
The milky stains
In your eyes
They know too
They know more
Than I do
The air picks
Apart your skin
The spots on
Your bird bone
Hands tell more
Than a thousand
Words ever could
The color ******
Out of your hair,
Lost altogether
The pigments are forgotten.
Beauty.

I'm so alone

I could hear my heart beating in my ears

I'm so accomplished

I'm still screaming at my fears

and all the while

though I'm fighting through these tears...

they trickle down and still...

nothing

I feel

as though

nothing

as if

nothing

nothing.

like a grandfather clock's ticking echoing down the hallways of my ears

tick

tick

tick

strikes the hour

does not chime

oh grandfather clock divine

oh old heart of mine

why do you not chime?

an anomaly
few roots are many roots of the same tree
from outside I am within the bark that encloses me

here ye here ye! polygonal me
mocking you an apology
all a'Riddle first due to the very nature
my skin my leaf

contradictory, the roots they twist on me
the vines of me
the veins of me

my pain you cannot see
my pain you cannot see

double vision two no three
four or infinity to a varying degree

my body tis' of thee, tangled up insanity
of thee I sing

***** from my fathers side
egg from my mothers side
brain and heart formaldehyde
let my moods swing

polygonal me an anomaly
normally unnatural
and artificially indeed
through means of fabrication
and good malicious deed

confiscatory generous
and metaphorically my breed
sarcastically scholastic
institutionalized branches
from the end to my seed

divinely soulless
constrictedly free
interestingly boring
grammatical greed

desperately selfish
slowly with speed
movingly static
hungry to feed

constantly moving
polygonal anomaly
how many sides
to a coin always flipping
to a coin always spinning

polygonal me
transparency
just
like
a
tree

there are many sides to a story
through shadows cannot see
the interlocking counterparts
elbows, knees, branches on trees.

who says they can't get along?
I say they have to disagree.
why can't they just let it be?
why don't you be you?...
and me be me me me me.

Just like a tree
whistling and singing
chirping with glee
waking me up at 6:30
though shadows cannot see
an anomaly sometimes
they play tricks on me

polygonal me

Don't cry, this kiss is a kiss goodbye.
Don't cling, it's time to part.
Don't look at me nor ask me why
I've taken back my heart.

No questioning, no pleading;
No door remains ajar.
No doubt your heart is bleeding
Now, and wounds of love will scar.

Don't hope to ever turn back time,
Nor resurrect the flame
Of what became a pantomime
Of love, in all but name.

Note nothing of why or how, enquire
no deeper than you need
into what set these veins on fire,
note simply that they bleed.

Spain fought before and fights again,
better no question why;
note churches burned and popes in pain
but not the men who die.

In a world of extremeties,
I seem to be stuck in the middle.
I do not comprehend,
The yin or the yang,
When the heart, is left oblivious.
Moderation, has been an adventure,
Success, a distant season,
Excellence, an unattainable past,
Worthiness, lost in a crowd.
A mundane existence seems just that,
The paltry accounts even more so,
The spirit seems lost, trampled,
With the seemingly pointless strive, thrive?
Maybe Adam and Eve stole,
All the debuting thunder,
While Jane and Joe were left wondering,
If their existence was only to glorify,
The extremities and burden themselves,
With the painstaking eternal return.