on occasions we go further than we did before.



the patch of dark is from the trees, a marking

place. the field of bells beyond. we have not

walked there since her mother died. we can

hear the people talk up on the precipice, look

they move slowly.



two are wearing orange, i think that they cannot see me.

i often say we, as if there are two of me. we stood

in the darker place.



turned,



and walked home again.



sbm.

Thank you everyones x

I found a penny buried within my throat,
sitting inside my stomach,
burried within my temple,
whispering words of my stars,
telling tales of my future's past,
guiding my fate down a musky road,
laying me in clovers,
tangling within my curls,
dripping into my drain,
over, and over again.

A  beautiful  laburnum  tree
as  just  come  into  flower
outside  my  window.
Drooping  clusters  of
yellow  flowers.
Hanging  down  like  jewels
on  a  chain.
Truly  beautiful.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

there are
names we
do not say,  
they form
pockets,
places the
rain has to
move to
get around.
a note that
when struck
is as
resonant
as the wolf,
whose howl
breaks the
sea, carves
the name
through
you & me.

Counting stars
And wishing for sheep
Is how I know I exist
So I cry out to the universe
"Please, I must exist"
Pleading, begging
As the flood waters rise
As green as an evergreens
Dancing in the skies
And I know the only answer
I shall ever get
Is the single remark
From the empty, nothingness
And it is all of no consequence

Eyes made of chocolate,
Melt with a warm heart, warm soul
Behind them, always


Sweet voice of sugar,
Sweetens my day with a laugh,
Dancing in the air


But oh, how that smile,
Can light up my day like that,
Make me smile like that


His treasured light heart,
The joyfulness of his smile,
The kindness he brings.