With petals of crimson
fragility
it caught their curious eyes
standing amidst the sturdy
wholesome and healthy
straws
all swaying
to the whispers
of the gentle summer breeze

It stood there
a tall stranger
among them
not pretty like the rose
not timid like the violet
and without real purpose
but colour
and its ruffled capsule
of secrets

They spotted it
saw its colour
decided to pluck it
take it away
for its floral beauty
and put it on display
in a crystal vase
somewhere
until the petals fell

It died
without beauty
and with nobody's lament
within minutes
of leaving
the rugged field
within hours of finding
its purpose

A crowded platform
chilling sunlight
family witing
for a train home
girls playing
Dad watching
Mum dreamily
gazing up the platform
past the strangers
into the empty air.
It's a cool, windy May afternoon.
Out of the blue
a heatwave
a rush
adrenalin to her heart
HIM slowly approaching
on the crowded platform
determined
dark
dangerous
deceptive
Young!
A dark figure
tall
elegant
graceful
hair like black flames
licking marble skin
eyes like mercury
poisonous
and HE stopped!
Chatted
for they knew HIM
and HE got on the train
with them
sat with them
toxic air
blurring her senses
and HE travelled with them
for a while
silently negotiating
a price for her soul.
And HE left them
as the train stopped
girls tired
Dad focused on a game
Mum slightly
distant...

I saw a flower
Burned by the summer sun
Withered by winter's cold
It had not felt spring
For years

Then it happened
A lightning cracked
And fire swept through
The garden
Rain followed
But the fire consumed
Everything
Left a pile of ashes
On the ground

But now it rises again
From ancient seeds
Which the fire didn't ruin
To greet the spring
In bloom

Poet, live melancholically as
A man with one eye and full vision.
Ambition but no depth
Perception.

Poet, live longingly as
A child in the corner.
Watching mother's wrist.

Poet, live remiscingly as
A bird crossing the street
Via sidewalk as a ghost.

Poet, live unconsciously as
A murderer, staring down at
A floorboard. Not blood but—ink
On your hands.