Lucid, luminous and lingering,
A crystal Polythene bag prances
Through the unborn air.
It contorts and convulses;
A perpetual struggle.
The Earth's Wild breath plucks
The entity away from its playful frolic
In a daring
******.
Altering the direction of odd exertion.
Entwining leaves round itself,
In a last hope of disguise.
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    
Impenetrable hands  
Catch
The gliding bag,
Propelling into the abyss.

Potent forces drag it further still,
Squirming like a forgotten child
Pleading
Yearning, to gain control.                                                                                                                                                                    
Demanding gales ******,
Choking the plastic vessel.
It gasps for air.
A fish awaiting its final breath.
    
Sailing the tumultuous breeze
Dismembered and
Swamped in the swarm,
Its handles now shattered.
A synthetic snow shower falls.

The bag is wrenched
Through the unforgiving sky,
Tumbling, abandoned.
It twists, spiralling,
Swamped in the ritual,
This new course of life.
The consumer controls,
Cash flashing in every corner,
Every crevice, no deviation.

It tears the gorge of the atmosphere
Knows nothing else,
A lone being,
Dragged around
Down to the dust of Earth.
Powerless in a turbulent tempest
The torment of growth.

This polythene material,
Diverged from being branded,
Swirling,
Becomes close,
With every violent fluctuation.
There is nothing inside this bag anymore;
Contents cannot aid its weakness.

When I was five years old,
I cut all my eyelashes off
In hope to gain more wishes.
Each member a companion to my eyes,
Longing to soar...
But fell to the ground.

Worn down nails,
rough and ridged.
Islands of colour float
in a pool of unwanted expectation.

Small pieces of skin stand proud.
Trail down my frame,
with your cardboard ogre hands.
Black prickles tickle your material,
poking out from minuscule crevices
you wanted to believe did not exist.

I am not preparing myself for your pleasure.
Your gaze through tinted roses,
giving you a wanted expectation.
Well, i'll be an exception.

Illuminated by incandescent brilliance
she is feeling celestial,
Radiated by the sparkler
held in the only gloved hand.
The curvature of blonde hair
folds around her face,
as you smile graciously.
Cast in shadows but never forgotten,
a penny in a wishing well.

You stand tall, a benign being.
He told her you are golden.
Looking down upon her,
in promise of prospect
as she wavers and wanders
loping around
like a small pixie,
spreading dust through
the swelling Garden.
This night, full of wonder,
enchantment, entrancement.
Mystical.

An alchemist appears to her.
She does not blink.

You gazed at bursts of light,
those thunders of giants
imprinting the smoke infested sky,
as you imprint her mind
with the stories you tell
and your accounts of life.
They cannot be retold.
Descending
Drawing in.
Now, vacuum packed
you are shrink wrapped,
enclosed with no air.

Mounds of cement run down your mouth.

That night you were strong
and you watched her with glee.
But now she’s bigger and bolder
and you’re weaker, older.
When her sparkler fades
The supernova stage,
A final moment of absolute glory
But will not linger,
Or last.

Now your eyes are melancholy,
Distant,
Enigmatic.
Wandering phantom orbs.

Her sparkler grows dim.

A white whiskered cat purrs along the barrier,
hissing at cliffs when its angry back arches.
Frothing milk forms,
lapped up by coarse tongues.

There are more stars in the sky than grains of sand on the earth,
and that scares me.
I want to climb inside a shell,
and hear the tranquil surf behind my eyes,
Curled up like a foetus, cradled and secure.

I wish I could imprint scales into my skin
and dive to the bottom of the swelling sea,
submerged into an untouched kingdom.
Although I wonder,
if it’s lonely down there.

Moisture hits my restless tongue,
parched by salted air.
Grains make unwanted homes between toes.
The flaming sphere scorches faces.
Once-invisible freckles rise,
like air-trapped bubbles rising to the surface.

Washed up cuttlebone.
Silk brushed carcass,
passed its shell life,
pristine, untouched,
gleaming in its pearly form.
Static and proud,
it sleeps on the bed of faithful sand,
a reminder of vivacity.

A lion’s face caresses the surface,
one fatal yawn
and it’s extinguished by dusk.

The beautiful thing about the ocean,
is the way it always returns to kiss the sand.