Raggedy Mules

Ghosts of the past
     on their raggedy mules,

Clichéd and typecast
     as infidels and fools,

Travelling nearby
     in their caravans of woe

And in the blink of an eye
     know what we know.

All that we fear
     and all that we yearn,

They see and hear
     as they twist and turn,

Through love and hate,
     beyond life or death,

The journey of fate
     lies on laboured breath.

On a wing and a prayer
     we wallow in doubt,

Grasping at thin air
     trying to get out,

But how pitiful we are
     with our ifs and buts,

Never getting very far
     as each door shuts.

Stranded in the void
     between Heaven and Earth

We seek out the paranoid
     to confirm our birth,

And they stand in line
     pretending to be friends,

And on our souls they dine
     when our journey ends.

Foolishly, we follow
     with all emotion spent,

In perpetual sorrow,
     waiting to be sent

To the archives of insanity
     dressed as ghouls,

Where we escape humanity
     on raggedy mules.

© RJVHorton2015

Throw Me A Bone

When I'm alone
     and out on the street

Throw me a bone
     where the vagrants meet,

Shake your heads
     and walk away

Back to your beds,
     in comfort, lay,

And say of me
    "It's his own **** fault!"

See what you want to see
     of the fight I fought,

Against myself
     and against my past,

Battling with my health
     and dreams too vast,

Dreams of repairing
     all that was wrong,

Dreams of sharing
     somewhere to belong

Yet the dreams have burst
     in a shower of regrets,

And I am sure to be first
     to face their debts.

The battles still rage
     in the memories I meet

As loneliness and old age
     secure my defeat,

The desire for peace
     is a mere illusion,

A faded pastiche,
     an unwanted intrusion.

I will bear no grudge
     nor shall I blame

Jury and the judge
     who imprisoned my name,

Nor the sun, the moon,
     the land or sea,

But to dance to the tune
     that is wholly me,

And when I am dying
     I will bow not grieve,

And if I start crying
     I will take my leave,

And if I catch your eye
     or you hear a faint groan,

Please don't walk by,
     throw me a bone.

© RJVHorton2015

The House On The Hill

Bleak, the naked
     windswept lanes,
Lashing skin,
    unforgiving rains

Drenching tatty,
     flapping drapes
In a flurry
     of flightless capes.

And aged eyes
     of darts and stares
Catch new lovers
     unawares,

Flitting from sky
     to window frame,
Dashing with
     their hearts aflame.

Inside, outside
     and under eaves,
Upturned collars
     and soaken sleeves,

Seeking shelter
     from heaven's spill,
Beckoned by
     the house on the hill.

Warmly wafts
     to welcome them
With lamplit porch
     and lacey hem,

Wry smiles
     and buttered toast,
Courtesy of
     the resident ghost.

Old lady, with your
     heart that bleeds,
Dweller in your
     loveless needs,

Lonely in your
     shadowy niche,
What trickery will your
     soul unleash?

Jealous shadows,
     creaking floors
Opening windows
     and slamming doors,

Trapped young hearts
     lay at your feet,
To beat no more
     their wreckless beat.

Seething, writhing,
     crimson drips,
Sweetly tasted
     on bitter lips,

Beside their lifeless
     essence rise
With mouths aghast
     and fading eyes.

The clock ticks,
     the hours pass,
Silence befalls,
     in dreams, at last,

No murderous widow,
     their lives, could take
Nor break their hearts
     before they wake.

Stretching limbs
     and sunkissed yawn
A sigh of relief,
     a welcomed dawn,

To wander life
     as wise old fools,
To knock death's door
     before death calls.

Frail, in cumbersome,
     aging skin,
Where no more passion
     beats within

A little old couple,
     with time to ****
Make their home
     in the house on the hill.

© RJVHorton2015

As If I Were A Stone

Sometimes the night is silent
     as if I were alone,
And as heavy as a sinking cloud
     as if I were a stone.
Crushing feelings, not seeming real
     as if they were a dream,
And as frightening as a nightmare
     goading me to scream.

Sometimes the morning taunts me
     as if I were a child,
Shining bright as a funny clown
     as if he always smiled,
Playing tricks with my sanity
     as if I were a fool,
Yet as loving as a reluctant friend
     kicking like a mule.

Sometimes the day judges me
     as if I were the accused,
People come and people go
     as if they were confused,
Ignoring me with their scrutiny
     as if I could avoid
A million eyes nailing me down
     keeping me paranoid.

Sometimes my life seems normal
     as if I were the sky,
Drifting by like a summer cloud
     as if a cloud could fly,
But sinking like the coming darkness
     as if I were a stone
Plunging me into silent sleep
     where I will weep alone.

Sometimes the night is silent........

© RJVHorton2015

https://www.amazon.co.uk/To-Be-Poet-Robert-Horton-ebook/dp/B0171RHOP8/ref=cmswemrawdopX0Ikwb1Y5R43Htt

All My Days

Suddenly,
     another morning,
Swishes the curtains
     without warning.

Portentous,
     with its ifs and buts,
It slashes my dreams
     like a million cuts.

Scarring
     my already scarred skin
Yet barely containing
     my nakedness within.

Apparently,
     I am disorientated,
Wandering, fumbling
     and discombobulated.

Trance-like,
     I carve out a window
To look out at a life
     lost in limbo.

Flitting
     from one person to another,
Wanting to be loved
     by somebody elses mother.

Same old, same old,
     a hand in face,
The lonely spectator
     of a strangers embrace.

Sunshine
     that I just can't see,
Perhaps the days
     were not meant for me.

Peevishly,
     I seek the shade,
It is a darkness
     that I, myself, have made.

Comforting,
     like all my hideaways,
Yet I cannot hide
     from all my days.
    
Reluctantly,
     I put on my disguise
And smile at the sun
     that dared to rise.

Incognito,
     I pretend I'm the light
Waiting, without a reflection,
     for the night.

© RJVHorton2015

Shenanigans

Ridiculously unusual
This familiar face,
Peering out of a photograph
Into an empty space,
With the eyes of a child
Where my life began,
Yet with the aging skin
Of a dying man.

Grotesquely beautiful,
This gaping wound,
Oozing its mischief,
Honed and fine tuned,
Perfectly imperfect,
Crafted yet shoddy,
Just a few broken fragments
Where there should be a body.

Extraordinarily ordinary,
I am an unknown name,
Written on a stone
Where all stones look the same,
Where the dreams of strangers
Are too vivid to save,
Archived in a memory,
Concealed in a grave.

Unutterable shenanigans
Of lovers and old friends
Pretentious well-wishers
As my life-force ends,
And kneeling at a headstone
Between photographs aflame
Is me, as a child,
Chiselling my name.

© RJVHorton2015