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I

I see everyday of my life spread
Before me; an orchard in bloom.
Each branch of tree, bush and leaf,
A memory for me to consume.

In summer, when the fruit is rich,
I tread the path, for fruit to pick,
Indulging in the springful life:
The ripen fruit bringing delight.

But with each bite that is left,
There is bitterness that in the next
Taste, it might just lose its edge,
Then soon the spoils may reach their end.

So the more I eat, the less enjoyed—
The more I walk, more worn the path.
Until the leaves finally fall
Into autumn’s strangling grasp.

II

I feel her touch,
Hands soft from love,
Stroking me,
Providing ease,

Like sliding through
Horizon’s stretch—
To a place where we
Would meet again.

But these moments fade,
In solstice’s blaze,
Where the summers past
are lost to the vague.

Flowers wilt, their colours damp,
Trees broken on the orchard path.
What remains from winter’s wrath?
But the cold and hurt from a frozen land.

III

The sodden marsh engulfs.
The land itself falls
In; the somme-like pit pulls
Into its hefty haul.

But past the glint of glossy eyes,
Lies a world where seeds survive.
We fail to see past lives once lead,
The growth thickening within our heads:

The weeds unkempt, vines in droves,
The bushes tangled with roses, broke,
So concerned for orchards gone;
We never made another one.

‘Cause the trees will grow in due time.
The fruit will ripen with more life.
An Eden will grow to replace
An age, to show, that we can change.
‪I am corruption, I slip,‬
‪seamlessly like ****,
‪into white wine.‬
‪Let the blood slide.‬

‪A sore swells big,‬
‪a pain, good to itch,‬
‪and flow, do my eyes,‬
‪when the blood slides.‬

‪To hope is to admit,‬
‪that you'll never feel sick,‬
‪so I soak in their lies‬
‪and let the blood slide.‬

‪Dreams as real as stars,‬
‪so close, yet far,‬
‪from them I cannot hide,‬
‪so I let the blood slide.‬

‪Bound to this earth,‬
‪by fleshy husk and dirt,‬
‪all we are is just rye,
‪so let the blood slide.‬

‪A weak light to the dark,‬
‪like the fat with ill-hearts;
‪I will never survive.‬
‪Let my blood slide.‬
The room's misted, I can hear
voices I think; shrouded cries
and muffled screams. But the smog
consumes us all.

I hear my name in the distance,
disembodied and murky like they
try to reach me through their sick seances.
They all melt into one loud trill.

There's only moments left
but as I walk this invented distance,
I feel a pull; magnetic almost,
away from the oppressive subterranean smoke.

There! A light that shines, and
the ringing ever clearer now,
so loud and harsh like a sick child's
scream; perennial and pained.

The veil of mist billows out as
I step on the ledge; and the blackest
of skies invites me, along with the
winks of dying stars. The incessant

noises and chaos and distraction
evanesce, as the asphalt below
beckons; blinking lights and enticing winds
either predict or force my hand.

With one lapse in thought;
my foot slips and all there is
to think is calm. I let the stream
of air take me and consume me.
A husk, a shadow,
a memory now weak.
A place to avoid,
a number to delete.
A face to forget,
a life given up.
A name to erase,
etched into your skull.
A myriad of hopes,
to remember as dreams.
A time spent alone
to weaken the seams.

A reason to drink.
A reason to cry.
A reason to laugh.
A reason to lie.
A past to detest,
a loss to accept.
A reason to bruise,
to soften the truth.
An excuse to abuse;
a home, to lose.
O, the dreams I have.
The whispers and promises
that skies give to us;
but all it can deliver
Is cold boring rain
every tear drop,
all the cold empty mornings;
a moment with you
I know that the
grass is green and
sun red, but sometimes
yellow like dandelions,
and the earth is brown
just like trunks of trees.
I know the skies
are painted in blues
that eventually fade
into mauve, at some point
coalescing into the seas
and limpid waters of
sun-kissed beaches, where
strange exotic fruits would
entice with violets and amaranths
redolent of a night on
some far island, stood
beneath the stars whilst
they shine white like...
a million ways out.
Each one a brush,
showing me the palette.
But everything just looks
grey and dark and
black.

— The End —