I wonder if you
ever wore your
heart on the
sleeve
of the shirt
I stole.

Regardless,
I'm sure
that there's space
for mine.

It's all coming down.
That which I built up over the years,
brick by brick
with bleeding hands.

I realise now
what it all meant,
those unthought actions and
unacted thoughts.

And I see it all before me
like the sad endings of the movies
you don't want to watch.
Your face in the mirror just like
you wish it wasn't.
Secrets in a drawer and
you regret having looked.

Each story they tell you is like
another dash
- on the canvas that shouldn't be
painted.

Maybe there's a reason for it all
and one day you'll be given a diploma
you don't really need.
Because they're telling us
you'll learn.

But what do you do when you
haven't learnt yet
and the mistakes are still
being made?

And that which you are hiding from
is chasing you
like the sea at your ankles and
it's too cold
so you're running
and you're scared
because this wave is bigger
than the one before.

Suddenly you're drowning
down and down
until you feel your palms press
flat
against the bricks from all that time
before.

You open your eyes for just the
slightest second
to see them stained red
and you know where that's from.

But they're in your way,
why won't they budge?
And you feel yourself
slipping away from under
whatever it was you used
to shield yourself.

It's all fading
and the bricks are
rebuilding themselves
but only in your mind because
that is what happens at
the end.

And you're wishing you had smiled
at the boy on the swing who
didn't yet know the world
and the girl running out of the
school gates on her last day
and the old couple who
kept on bickering.

You wish you had smiled
before it was too late.

My only fear
Is that I will spend every night
Sobbing in your arms
To make up for all the times
Everyone else
Left me to fend for myself.

the art of mercy,
is not a hard thing,
to learn...

like pontilism,
you start...
with one small dot,
one act of kindness,
a smile, a word, a change
of heart,
to this add more,
build a picture of caritas....
shaded with compassion
and thoughtful deeds.

paint then, a new canvas
using, broad strokes of time
and heartfelt tears....
be magmanimous,
with colour,
care and altruism,
be bold and brave
with actions,
that come from
your need,
to see this world
as a legacy of love....

then, when you have mastered that,
take up your pencil
and draw,
in fine lined, forbearance and clemency,
a self portrait of forgiveness,
for we all need mercy....
and reminders,
to be of a heart most merciful...

then take your palette,
and new found skills
and become
an artist....
of the street,
teaching, giving showing mercy
at every turn or bus-stop,
every street corner....
under bridges, in tall towers
scrawl mercy, on walls
and sidewalks....
paint the town....
                   paint the town.....

the art of mercy....
               is simply,
                             beautiful,
               to behold,
                             at work,
               it changes,
                           just about,
               everything......
for the better...

I write of spring in autumn
of summer in winter
I like to be where I'm not
to cheat on time
fantasy
is so much better

She had wrestled with many a serpent that had wrapped its slinky body around hers, tightening its grip for death, squeezing every drop of life from her.   And each time escape had appeared to her by a slim chance, luck was there in the moment.   And there were wolves too, with voices oozing charm, dressed in style, in the woolly warmness of sheep, but hungry dogs, dribbling, waiting impatiently to devour a good meal.   She had run from them all, breathless, wide-eyed, heart pounding within the chase.

They wanted life....her life, desiring those beautiful things.   Needing to be full of all the good that was in her, to enable them to shine, as she did.

But things have changed, she scans the world with new eyes, in these untrustworthy days.   And now the living dead can only afford to hiss and growl in the darkness.   Not once will they get close enough, to lick the salt, and taste how delicious she is.   Not close enough, to hold on and wring her dry, not any more.

She sees them coming now, even before the day dawns.   She hears their mischievous desires, moan and rumble like distant thunder on a cool breeze.   It is always the same, as each one approaches; a cheesy grin, the freak in disguise, with its deep inhale of breath, ready to spin the hallucinogenic tale of their lives.

Their blatant nakedness wants to make her break out in a girlie giggle.   But she holds it in, stops it with a little finger against her lip.  Shines a sophisticated womanly smile, and asks quietly, "Who are you?"    Then turns her back, walks far away.   Never looking behind, not even a thought of it.  No fighting, no running.   And her heart remains quiet within.

Three words....and they are nothing.   Ignored, to complete disintegration.   Those mutants who prowl, to destroy her beautiful world.   Slain with a question they can never answer.   For even they do not know who they are.

Her light shines, just a little brighter.   Life goes on – life lives in her.