As sure as the night
into day will turn,

the soul would clutch
at the scars we still earn...

And the skin would miss
just as the heart would burn.

I thought if the moon turns away,
I’d put an ear to the ground
hoping to hear the earth’s heartbeat.

I thought if the earth revolves
without a whim or a care,
I’d walk with it
so I could confide in the stars.

I thought that if the stars
don't listen,
maybe...

Just maybe you would.

Glimpses of the past
captured in shots.

Much to relish and savour.
Much to learn from.

But they flash by
all too quickly.

If I could,
these still frames
I’d tessellate haphazardly;
for they never came in sequence.

Then I’d pan out to see
a view of a wall...

Towering to the heavens
as high as my vision could reach,
spanning the horizon
as far as my head could turn.

I peer
but with naked eyes,
a busy mosaic
of my history
told in sepia.

Tell me a story.
Tell me a story of victory
and triumph.

Remind me of possibilities.
Remind me of reasons
to make change.

Convince me again.
Convince me that for a time,
I believed in the stars
and the full blown moon.

Assure me...
Assure me that the universe
hasn’t left.

And that I’m still in it.

I fall back
on uttered words.

In them
I find comfort.
Like a spear
of newly birthed rays,
slipping silently
between complacent
drapes.

The warmth I feel
like love upon my skin -
wholesome and sufficient.

And the day matures
as do the words.

What used to soothe
now burns as hot as
the midday sun.

Draw the curtains.
Your mind isn’t yet ready
and is no match
for smouldering embers.

I tripped.
I fell on uttered words.

Here I am,
engulfed and cocooned
in heavy drapes.

Dressed in titillating shades
and the allure of today...
Bent back...
Dragging
the tattered tassels
of yesterday’s folly.

Sporting a mask
adorned with
the most lavish
of paints albeit a husk
that once sang proud,
the colours
of his anthem.

His smile incites
the reciprocation
from those around...
Yet it’s all but
plastic.

An ascot of the finest silk.
Soft and extravagant yet...
Tied too close to skin -
a noose around the neck
that wears him instead.

He is a ghost.
A hapless man
dressed in the present,
looks to the future
but wades through
the murks
of the past.


Have you seen him lately?

.

Come as the silence of night,
to soothe waylaid hearts.

Let them hear...
The rhythm of
their own pounding.

Cradle them...
And carry them
through every deep breath...
And every heavy sigh.

Assure them that the lull
between such forlorn beats
will never be prolonged
as long as there is a want,
and need
to hear and feel the next.

sometimes
my universe
seems to snap
into place

but more often
than not,
it’s in
perfect disarray

if indeed
my heart
knows every
word to
this song

why does
my voice
argue that
it should
never be
sung?

the symphony
played by the water
upon the shore

punctuated at times
by that errant wave
that crashed a little too hard

dislodging half-buried notions,
revealing pint-sized dreams
and tabulating forgotten score

serving watchful eyes
a fistful of sand,
and pays concerned hearts
with total disregard

The radio sung me a tune.
A tune made for me.
It was played soft.
It told me a story.

The melody that accompanied,
resonated with every chord.
Every word that I had heard,
struck home like a sharpened sword.

I thought, “Could it have been for me?”
Just when the tune ended.
“Is it so that I am that apparent?
For such a song to be written and dedicated.”

But I am a fool...
For thinking I am worth the scrutiny.
While being neck-deep,
in an ocean -
unalone with others plenty.