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Rob Rutledge Jan 2015
Tell me a secret,
One you've been keeping
Quiet, still beating
After all these years.
Start at the beginning
Till you find the feelings
That once gave meaning
To all your fears.

Was it the lullaby
Softly sung in the night
That brought a tear
To your eye?
Was it family leaving,
Friend lists depleting,
The child that died
In your arms.

It was never easy,
This world will defeat me
One day at a time.
So did you give up the fight?
At the very first sight
After being blind.
So tell me a secret
One you've been keeping
And one that will make you smile.
Rob Rutledge Jan 2015
If I had but one wish,
I would wish to live forever.
Find the ties of mortal life
Cut quick the binds we sever.
Become a watcher in the mist,
A homeless, timeless clan
Caught in the currents of the rift.
No Steins Gate will be entered
World lines locked from our reach.
Fighting the tides of entropy
Fist, nail and bloodied teeth.
Again and again and again
Unto the breach.
Drowning,
From the pressure of the deep.

And if in that moment we falter
Our power lost to the trees.
Alder, Maple, Ash.
Vines strangling our cities.
Choking on what we were told.
The earth takes us in a headlock
Strangles tight and wont let go.

Its fingers slipped in the nuclear snow
Withered tendril arms, retreating
To where they used to go.
Exiled below
Deep within the darkest reaches
Far from the reach of the human throne.
In the dark it patiently plotted,
Schemed to overthrow.
Rob Rutledge Jan 2015
There is so much anger in their hearts
That it's hard to feel much past
The rage that warms the path they walk.
Fueled by geothermic machinations
From within the mantled core.
The oceans act to sooth,
Calm the troubles of the land.
But their nature is transient
Moving in ways we will never
Understand

While Barking at the moon
Sense obscured by wilting foliage
Covering the clear thinking of the sky.
Clouding the eternal questions
And the sovereignty of the mind
                            Blown free                  
In the
           Slightest of br e e z e s
Where all the thoughts and ideas live,
Alive for a passing moment. Grasped quick
Or gone the way of water
           Lost somewhere out at sea.
Rob Rutledge Jan 2015
This house is no home.
Just bricks and mortar
Cracked paving stones.
The basil plant on the windowsill
Has seen better days.
Leaves wilting alone.

The walls seem closer,
Close enough to stifle the soul.
Spring should be here by now
But winter won't let go.
The picket gate is creaking
Smothered by the weight of snow.
Cold and broken the boiler has
Long packed in.
Frozen
In what resembles rage again.
Rob Rutledge Dec 2014
Oh it's the most horrible time of the year.
Long working hours, forced festive cheer.
Only made better by copious amounts of beer.
Oh it's the most horrible time of the year.

Merry Christmas to all you fine people on Hello Poetry
It's not really that horrible.
Rob Rutledge Dec 2014
There was control and Excession
A master Use of Weapons.
Inversions without as well as within.
The Culture looking to windward
At the light of a dying war
Played to the tune of a Hydrogen Sonata
What mattered then Matters no more.
Phlebas played his games
All things considered
Yet played them far too well
Against a dark background
The Feersum Endjinn tells
Of better times.
As Algebraists count,
Passing time on the abaci of the mind.
They divine the nature of the heart,
Given up in offering
To the State of the Art.
A poor tribute to my favorite author the late great Iain Banks
Rob Rutledge Dec 2014
A sleeping satellite peeks
Over the shoulders of Orion
Late on a clear christmas eve.
Winking at the world below
The light reflects off passing clouds
A slice of silver flows.
Trickling into far cast shadows
Bathed in an incandescent glow.

The moon lays resplendent
The crowning jewel of the sky
Where many a tired traveller
Became lost within her eyes.
Disguising the fire of the sun
Basking in the pale half-light
Untill this night is done.
And
When the moon gives way
To the cold light of day.
The stars are kept at bay.
Hidden out of sight
Furious
At their chains that bind them to the night.
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