Contorted within isolation I linger
In a pose of fallen reflections.
Each thrown from the nest to fly,
                      but fall like tombstones.

Barren of keys to unlock the gate
to let my musing fly free, instead
the feathers are silent and the
                     carcasses linger beneath me.

I was once free to soar far beyond my
reach, but now I'm a voiceless bird
caged within my self.
                                 All I want to be is free.

Lingering afterimages of you collecting in
jars of my mind. I knew this was momentary
that it wasn't an eternity but a grain falling
beyond my reach, but I try to catch you.

Losing you even though your last breath
still warms upon me, your hair is an
ocean for my fingers to hold but like
water they wash through.

I feel the wondering of you heart,
like butterflies eclipsing they flutter
from you. If I could catch even one,
a prisoner of life,
                   hearing but a singular beat.

But you are lost to me, and that butterfly
motionless lying next to you.
I collected your memory in jars, but I
know I must let this last butterfly fly free.

I'm just a clay figure
            emotions carved upon me

Maneuverer my sense of dignity,
               stripping me away slowly.

Moulded without consent,
           into a kiln you solidify my discontent.

I'm just a figurine
               painted the way you like.

I hear the rustling of the leaves colliding upon
the others like a bumper car ride but no one is driving.
Voicing in motions that they are moved silently.

I envision the swaying, like the crest of natures
wave coalescing like feathers in flight anchored
till the season ebbs there dance to a fall.

On a path of buttons she did sew upon her patchwork steps,
like silk they were upon this place each one delicately
thread. In a tale of one woven following the footpath
of seamless memories, but one can became untied from
the trail if not watching there untied thoughts instead.

Before silken steps knew any different, a broken button
did fray her stride. Looking around, she spoke in velvet
wording "Hello is there but a voice to guide my way,
But not a woven word did cross stitch upon the air.
All was not as she knew before, a place not quite fastened right.

Trees were torn, branches were hanging by loose thread, the
embroidered leaves tattered and worn like they had been
handled in wrong manners way to much. The road once sewn
in tasteful stitch, now scratched and broken like it had been discarded
without a pattern to weave a safe path, this wasn't as such.

Luckily for this little lady her silken steps were still fresh behind,
patterned in a way to follow her way back.  Noises she heard of
fabric torn, not seeing it she hurried her motions to where the
buttons were polished woven in form, The trees were trimmed
the leaves elaborately stitched, and she sighed with relief.

She had learnt a lesson that was cross stitched into her thoughts.
That when one is walking always know where those silken steps are woven to the right path. For if a path becomes tattered and a place unknown, one was not taking steps to safety get home. Always weave a
thought from here to there, follow you buttons carefully to home instead.

Flushed aromas of seasonal rebirth,
hues coalesce within portraits woven
of motions colliding seeding the earth.
silk petals delicately handwoven.

Brushstrokes of nature weaving on daylight,
dewdrops lingering like teardrops on leaves.
Bees collecting nectar, resting from flight,
life flourishing, nature gracefully weaves.

Tame winds caressing elegant blossom
as tears of colour descend upon height.
Blankets of hues saturate emblossom
resembling cloud pictures, sketches re-create.

Surrounded by fallen tears, natures allure
caressing landscapes, spring delicately pure..

Little sapling growing between a rock and a hard place.
Weathering what life is surrounding you. No friends of yet
but you are only a sapling give it time. Moments passing
watching scenery elope to shifting seasons beauties.

Sea air invigorating as rain trickled from above dancing on
your now maturing leaves, tickling as each one weaved its
way down, like teardrops they descended on there journey
of life carrying on.

The Cliffside sighs, and teardrops of rocks descend,
woeful of those this motion that swept away, beauty
that clung silently there. The sapling is of branches
and leaves giving needed shelter to tired wings.

Seasons whisper by as the sun and moon dance above
her gaze. Roots delicately weave deeply into the Cliffside
keeping here steady, for if it were to sigh again her fate
steadfast in this place between a rock and a hard place.

Her leaves happened upon a blossom, so delicate in
its serenade of colour against the harsh rock face.
Like a parent when winds were bleak shielding its
frailty with branch and leaves, it only lost a petal this time.

She flowered in the seasons, blossom invigorated the
surroundings of what was bleak, like teardrops of love
for a time they painted vivid etchings on the Cliffside
till they faded nourishing those of lesser stature.

As she yawned on the morning rising above the
horizon, she felt motions upon her leaves.
Never in her time had she felt such gentle touches,
as palms glided over her foliage.

Feeling the breeze from up high, the cliffs edge she
had flourished in growth, now little eyes saw her
in full blossom as the seasons had changed.
Laughter ensued when gusts eloped with blossom.

Pink and light shades of magenta danced between
children, a fence keeping wondering thoughts safe
from the fallen dreams at the bottom of the Cliffside.
Leaves caressed the winds and she was content.

My words are fractured                      
                   but my thoughts are undivided.

My fingers are tapestry of both,
                    stitching them incompletely.

But to some these things make sense.

Driving along then a heard a murmur and the
hairs on my neck crept up,
                                                I looked behind.....

Seeing myself in the back seat, "Don't turn around,
I reacted in fright, I angled my view to see
                                                           nothing before my eyes?

Swinging back, I saw lights eclipsing in my sight,
then the impact. I awoke up in the back seat, the force
had severed me from my seat, I was disembowelled.

As my life bled out I looked in the rear view mirror
seeing myself
                        I said
                                 *"Don't turn around,

We all walk on a path of singularity,
for when our first steps are made
with ours not there's or those others.

Every footstep has a consequence,
Every breath has an exit to move on,
Every path is one we tread upon.

Others may walk hand in hand,
there's brushing delicately on ours.
Woven but others never stepping on.

We walk on a path of singularity,
For when our last steps are made
we are surrounded by others paths.

If we reach high enough we can touch a star,
but If we linger with the
                                              decay of doubt.

We only heed our fears and stay land locked
in a cage of
                     immaturity.

Let us all reach further. be grown ups in a
place that yearns for us to
                                             climb out.

If my heart was a teardrop
would endeavour to
                                 capture it.

Even though you know it would
evaporate from your
                                      yielding.

As moments vacate and my tear
fading from your grasp an
                                        essence lingers.

*"If I were a tear drop, I'd only cry for you,

Our trajectory was so like no other.  
so linear within it's silhouette,

gazing upon the others
                                        gravity.

We had a cycle of moments that
were like
                s
                    t
                    ­   a
                           r
                              s
Weaving between our paths, serenading
our motions entwined within the others
graces. There was nothing between us
but space, a gravity of affections.


But some times a distance can expand
                                                 in time,
Even though we once eclipsing each other.
Gazing at each other as our horizons descended
you were the gravity of my yearning for so long.

I could count the stars that shot upon our forms,
still I feel the effects, but our stars descend less often.
Maybe ours were answered previously but dreams
            
                                                   ­ only come true once.

You'll always be within my orbit, but never as
close as what gravity lingered before.
I see you, but we are just motions no longer
adjacent in the stars of our hearts.

If I were to collect all my thoughts in a jar
of contemplation I would be on street corners
asking kind people for a memory to linger in
as I can only muster pennies.

We are all babies
      in the pond of life
swimming to somewhere

Consuming youth,
                      lingering  longer


In death

Empty minds flutter,

          Vacant memories abscond.

Blank reflections do gaze.

Were tied to others orbits even though were pelted
with the remnant of there words raining down on us.

Scaring the landscape of our feelings,
we still linger hoping that our orbits glide closer,

But in reality were always being pushed further apart.

Love is what lies between the effort's
         of what stands between us..

Chaos
           &
               Disorder

With but reflection love is the courage
               that binds us as singular ones.

Droplets of reflection shatter on the hard ground,
               soaking up the drought of thought.

evaporating in reflections shimmering
in rainbows
    of imagery slowly fading but bright.

I don't sugar coat
                        ****,

Cos that would be gross
    

I just tell you how it is...

Woven within our madness,

                   the needle of sanity
                          penetrated deeply

life is a stone in a pond,
once
        we sink
                we never rise,

but the ripples of our life
       touch more than we know.

Life is like a pencil,
          
            Once you use up all the lead

All your left with is dead wood...

Those who try to belittle you
           do so because at that moment.

They are feeling smaller than you...

           words hurt, but a smile ****** them off...

Woven in tears of collected misgivings
for his voice never to be heard in the halls
of man, just echoes of nothingness.

For he was a fiction of man, fed through mouths
never one his own, for courts jested verses of
there needing not those repeated and reversed.

Words are power in anyone's hand, the tonged syllables
are hypnotic in a wrong mans purse. Listen to knowledge
and fact, falsehood is a serpent biting back.

I asked her to blow the dust of my bean bags,
she looked at me like I was asking of something ungiven.

But she cleansed them within a volume of gargled verse,
vacuuming the soiled reminisce of who's last tongue
had woven there words of lust upon them.

"You dumped me, we were on a break,

But teeth are sharper than a particular female anatomy.

Saying a few syllables in gargled verse,

"This is my **** gun,  "And your fired,

"We were on a BREAK,

I had so many stitches that my ***** looked Frankenstein's
face, never ******* a woman when she has your bean bags
in her mouth, tears of crimson fell as I fainted.

I held it momentarily at my throat gliding
it effortlessly as it permeated in tears of release.

You should have known this was coming,
the signs were there, but I couldn't keep it
hidden. I released the blade upon my throat.

I held it momentarily, then cleansed myself
of a burden that had hung there far to long.

You should have seen your tears in the mirror,
that part of me now gone. Laying on the ground
crumbled lifeless, A history of growth now fallen.

Rumpled paper, palms full.

                      Detour of eyes wondering


Moments of ecstasy, sight widens...

                  

                                                     Wallet empty.....

Numb of surroundings
                         eyes watching afar.

Fifteen minutes, a lifetime of regrets..

Tears falling  inwards....

Enveloped within the musings of ardour,
I was the pencil etching upon the refined
blank verses of her needing's.

Engraving within the crevasses of her
yearning, writing syllables felt deep within.
She was an impression on my heart.

We were woven of different silks that merged
beautifully woven deep within the emotions
of each others rousing verses.

Hillsides of evergreen where the breath of nature
weaved within the branches, kissing every leaf
they bowed in sensibility of this moving.

Below magnetic in its roaming, barks of trees
caressing its need to scratch needing of relief.
The pack awaiting for there brother to join again.

Playful in there roughing up of others, but never
blemishing a brothers flesh, always looking out
for each the alpha always feeing first respect earned.

When the seasons linger between lucid hues of
decay and the white washing of scenery they,
Playful times are less, hunger is there regress.

White lingers as tears of life's wine saturates,
the need of the many feeding on the fallen
motions of there prey, living for another day.

My Muse comes in waves slashing
on my mind, some times drowning
me in imagery.

But then when I just want to skinny dip,
I'm just sitting on the sand, seeing others
ink sinking in.

Even when there away,
the blossom of there
       emotions
                     descend
on our hearts.
Each kissing
the loneliness away

It was collected under the curtains of my thoughts,
But I listened to the rustling of what was beneath.
The rawness that is buried lingering submerged.

I heard the eroding methods of their words scrapping
within myself. "Listen, listen, its beneath the sinews of
what's floating upon the shores of there lies.

I sculpture on the deceit buried in profound veins,
There screaming in lullabies of a yearning to
sulk with rough tears falling in torment.

I wonder in thoughts when sitting in
this solitude of my garden, when rain
doesn't dampen my attention then a
blanket on freshly cut grass. I sneeze
but lie down playing cloud clues with
my child what shall we see today.

                             "I see giraffe, I see unicorn.

Funny things clouds melting into forms
of imagination. the bird table vacant of
food so bread on the stale side broken
up, listening to the tweets as they chat
to each other.

                      "Tweet [Lunch is up] Tweet,

We have our own little squirrels in the
tree a bush I never cut, letting it linger in
height so lingering minds don't disturb
there natural habitat. Acrobatic dancers
on branch and fence.

                   "Dad its looking through the window again,

A staring contest of man and animal, I always
giggle when it just looks at me like I'm the
crazy one? I love my garden so much woven
in such a little space. A safe zone for my little
ones. I chill with a beer as the sun just popped out.

I verse on the tracks of desolation, collecting the fares
of misinterpreted views. Distorted rails nearly derail
my motion onwards, the baggage of my life is strewn
in plain view.

A journey is only a fluctuation of tendencies,
Never knowing the repetitiveness of coincidental
meetings. I'm a hobo in a suit, trailing features of soiled
seats that's have memories of words spilt on them.

I lose myself in momentary views that like paper
trails flickering  show me different afflictions outside
a window of opportunity that lasts moments.
I'm in a can of sardines waiting for my release.

When the sun slumbered beyond the falling
horizon, a deranged mentor of those it wondered
over below. False expressions were given in tribute
to that which watched with acidic smiles of their  
persecution beneath its gaze.

In its fading they were collected in truest outline.
Negatives of perceived imaginings, pigmentation
descended from form like coloured petals
turning to dust. They were the abattoirs of this
now discoloured imaginings.

Sweetened voices of lullabies were replaced by
disorientated shrills, that reverberated within
the halls, they lumbered in there contorted abodes.
Nesting into corners of despair that blossomed on
them with hues of isolation.

Feasting on warm carcasses, weeping with
trepidation at this momentary freedom they felt.
There home of tattered souls that were cleaved
from prey, no peace in death. They hang at
the windows clinging to lost hope.

Time was a nine tailed mistress that whipped them
into the binding once more. For the arising was upon
them, they were lacerated within colour once more.
All that was flaked away and became as it was.
Smiles on there faces paying tribute to that above.

Silken skin verses the mobility of
static agitation, it sways like a lullaby
before there contemplation  guiding them
to the slow asphyxiation of innocence.

They sway hypnotic, like a chime of
footsteps yet to be trod upon. But we
focus I'm mirages of what we gander upon,
A swing of past memories to hang on.

Were diluted within an impression that we
linger on. Our dreams are motionless when
we collect as nourishment for the unmoved
earth beneath our dreams.

"We swayed in the imagining of reality,
*"Till our dreams decayed like fallen petals.

Leaving them on the sand dunes of reflection,
                                         staring into sunsets of yesterday.

Longing the feel caressing between toes,
                             waves ebbed closer to my heart....

Betrothed with suffocating embraces,
                            coherent upon her flesh

Dusk entwined within,
                            She was less with each sunset...

My eyes are hanging
on the loop of tiredness,

Ill take the step into slumber,
eyes hang silently...

I'm asphyxiating within your words,
a collage of silhouettes that are weak in form.
For when tears bleach their meaning all that
is seen is the transparently of your fragility.

But linages of secluded rooms that collect
all the poisons of my verses, everyone a
torment that outlines the concussions of
what my mind collects in a penny jar.

If I dropped every essence of you within
an outline of ripples, could you breath in
the shores of my anger, as I lay you silently
on the embankment of shadows of loneliness.

I leaned to tie a knot at the age of seven..

Learning the motions of what kept up
locked in harmony...

As I swayed silently, my reflection laced
around my silence...

Old memories thread together what was a past
antiquity's  of remembrance. But once a reflection
is tied to the past it hangs on woven fabric.

We can contemplate the reason it was propelled
to this point, suspended in memory of a reflection
now swaying on a timeline of thought.

Plumage of silhouettes sway on the
                             music of natures breath,

a choreography of natures beauty.

The ruination of a twenty minute piece,
only two stanzas in verse but a  Michelangelo
of verse, but in full discontent it crashed
and my art became white washed into oblivion...

I swigged three vodkas at the nothingness that
stared back, there are some that are creations
never to be repeated, an amnesia of vison
but all I got was a 502 reload **** that...