Altering my words
Just to score a few cheap points.
You're good at that game!

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.

2.19 am.
Another sleepless night in
Clinging sweaty sheets.

Unnoticed by day,
This metronomic ticking
Is thieving my sleep.

It's no use hiding -
My water glass magnifies
The luminous dial.

Ominous red glow,
Like an army on the ridge,
Retreat into dream.

© Marcus Lane 2008

A pin point
Of liquid silver sound
Trickles from

Open sky

Low under leaden feet
The cheated generation
Lies
Present and correct
Rank and file
Row upon row

Dark sockets gape
Where eyes once flared and flinched
Bled and oozed
Then locked their grateful lids
To extinguish Hell

For good

Beneath the sun's glower
I raise mine to
Squint
At the lark

Ascending

Deep-rooted through time
This Norman arch,
Oak-like
Stands firm.

Over-arching
Buttresses and beams
Once wove wefts of
Warm reassurance.

Beneath oppressive clouds
Now a weary spire
Lifts a lone limp finger
Paying lip-service
To a memory.

Soiled latex
Sharp steel
Crushed aluminum
The offerings of straying pilgrims.

Illuminated lettering
The artful work of
New scribes:

God wos ere
lol


© Marcus Lane 2009

A crisp white sheet of
Pristine perfection.
An awakened spring leaf
Unfurls in the crook
Of my arm.

Your new life.

My eye is mirrored
In your liquid pupil
As I stare

Mesmerized

Into a deep pool
Of ancient memory.


© Marcus Lane 2009

When the tide is high and the spray flies wild
And  storm-battered cliffs loom grey,
Gulls are flung like litter in the wind
Above the tossing boats in the bay.

Now grey-gloved fingers feel from afar,
A muffling shroud of fear,
For the mist's stolen in with a furtive glance
At the lighthouse winking on the pier.

The ******* surf on the shingle shore
Rattles like smugglers' bones
Stirring the dark and dreary depths
With gales of ghoulish groans.

Wrestling waves in a turmoil twist
Their heaving muscles in mounds,
And crash to a crescendo of spittle and spray -
A rejoicing of ocean sounds!