Lacerate

Laceration, Laceration, Laceration.
A pessimistic look back on a Tony Blair speech.
It could be said that that’s what he has done.
Our former ‘Great’ Britain’
brought down to it’s knees.

NO freedom of speech.
NO freedom at all.
It’s all so P.C.

Zoom in to the human  few who view the world in rose-tinted shades,
graze upon their perspective and be at ease with the world.
We all look up at the same sky, we all walk the same planet,
but we do not drink the same water, we do not think of death
before we name our sons or daughters.
Smaller scale; we do not live in the same estate,
the same country or state, we do not care for the same debates.

ASBO's or petrol prices?
Knife crime or mortgages?
Employment crisis,
divisions divided,
some benefit in this state,
some need state benefits.

Standing separate...
we are not the same and when we are
we are still different to the desperate, the desolate.
We are not the same, we all look up at the same sky,
but not for the same reasons, we may seek lost relatives,
we do not pray for rain.
We all look up at the same sky but does it hurt you to know helpless people need not die?

A barely coherent deity entered frowning,
giving his incisive javelin kinetic life,
malicious, negative omnipresence.
Perforating quickly, random, stealth targets,
unified viciously with xenogenic youth, zoic.

A boat,
a world.
Sailing unseen
seas. Gathering
legendary creatures.
Mythical society
contained within a sailboat. One
world hidden within another, blind;
no normal man can see beneath. Inspect,
titans fire cannons, Charon runs sick bay.
Lady Lorely has all webbed hands on deck, the blue
men of the Minch guard the mighty Orpheus. Quiz
you they will on will power and skill, all mortal men undone.
Every battle is won by The Orpheus, without war.

As an adult I have a sub-conscious mind,
which entertains my irregular dreams.
So are the dreams of a baby dreams of no kind?
Colours and shapes lacking their titles,
dark space and sounds, no word from the bible.

Ignorant bliss?
I think not as I rewind my dormant thoughts.
Remember my adventure in a land without time.
whether pleasant or not I wake up alive.
Though as I run through the trees, lost in the wild,
there’s excitement in mind, yet life can be mild.
Life is so structured.
The structure within dreams is rather more fragile.
No gravity and teleports.


Entire lives within seconds.

Which would you chose?
Dreams of no kind?
A land without time?

She wore a backless, black lace dress with such finesse. Impressed,
I stood and addressed her hands sweet caress delicately.
Showing interest, pressed close 'til the night called for rest.
Dressed to undress: the loose embrace of her lace falls.
Tracing her figure with my fingertips; a definite
ten. Morning arrives to frame her,
a golden silhouette asleep.
It's a shame sunlight fades,
a.m's never looked better.
Fragile features'
soft suggestion:
beauty.
Beauty.

I dreamt of a girl, a girl who was dead.
She had lived in a house, a house where I conversed…
“what is your name?” A ghostly response,
my hearing refrained, unable to decipher.


Still she would tell me, what she attempted to announce,
her mouth now ******.
My courage became fear, I began screaming,
she whispered “don’t turn away”.
In fear I could hear, what she attempted to say.


I dreamt of a girl, a girl who was dead.
Her mouth was bleeding, but her lips were not red.
She lived in a house, a house where she said
“here’s where I died, one shot to the head”.


She continued to tell me of how she had died.
The way he had shot her, his absent guilt.
He was her opposite and told her “I tried”.
She wanted too much-too much as he thought.


I turned and I saw him, his expressionless face.
He said he felt nothing, neither did this former home.
“Not a place for feelings, if that’s what you do”
He would know,
he was her father after all…