Learning the art of absent love
she absorbs herself with a
perspective only to be seen through
the glasses of rose tinted sunlit skies

Planting seeds of love
she lays amidst meadow fields
staring at pastel palettes

Drifting motions as, her hand lifts
her finger tracing clouds
as painting upon a clear canvas
where her art knows no boundaries

Singing herself lullabies
her soul fed by stardust
her eyes wavering, flickering
& finally closing, into a dreamscape
of mysterious lucidity

Her longing eased, escapism from
a skipping heartbeat bleeding for attachment,
awaiting the blooming of flowers
which follow a winter of freezing hearts
now pining to thaw.

© Sia Jane

We’ve got a lot in common,
we share the same disease.
We’re thankful for our belongings,
though we fall down to our knees.

And the Israelites are coming,
they bring their funeral song,
a one thousand petalled lotus
is burned in the Gaza storm.

Oh, I don’t want to hurt you,
but you know that love is pain.
You find yourself in its absence,
just to lose it all again.

And still, I’ll come back for more,
like some ***-starved, pointless slave.
Fixate on you in the darkness,
and forget you in the day.

And I do not need this devotion,
I know not what it is for,
I waded through the ocean,
just to fall down at your door.

I gave myself to religion,
I gave myself to war,
I fought for all of the peace,
that I’d lost on your bedroom floor.

And I do not need this devotion,
'cause I know not what it is for,
I waded through the ocean,
just to fall down at your door.

And the soil swallowed me whole,
whilst I’ve been searching in the skies,
A motion of light in the treetops,
a love before the lies.

I do not need this emotion,
I do not need your pearls,
I’m looking for a brand new woman,
now I’m tired of spoiled little girls.

We’ve got a lot in common,
how we tend to impossible dreams.
The way we stand up for freedom,
the way we fall down to our knees.

The way we fall down to our knees.

Finding a living is so hard,
so difficult to sustain
without a reason to sustain it.
Beyond personal dreams
and a need for greed.

An ocean of eyes follow me
through the working day
until I crave isolation.
Only to stumble into
my blank-walled retreat
and realise what isolation really means.

What happened to our potential love?
I cannot read your last letter,
too scared to hear
that you hold a happiness
that bears absolutely
no reliance on me.

You found our distance
lost its charm. You have him,
with his immediacy
and a history to draw upon,
to justify.
I am a teenage folly,
left in the scrap of old photographs
and even older emotion.

A disused, defunct muscle
left to atrophy
as you find your comfort
and your way in life.
But you are a stray, a stray
with the desire
to be led astray;
with the want for a longing.

You know I can fill your days with poetry,
your bed with flame,
your winters with heat.

Over sleep
Undercook
Picking Scabs
Laying myself out for the day
Pulling my feet down to the carpet