Back of her hand
ran across the red on her lips.

Smearing what once was delectable.

Attempted to wipe the drops
which quickly turned to rivulets,
running black down her cheeks.

i'm                                  
silt,                          
dirt                  
and           
  grit...  


fire,    
wind,          
water...                ­  

i'm                 
neither...

The last autumn leaf had fallen.
A gust had taken it off its perch
and sent it earthbound.
It relished its slowed descent
only to be cradled by the ***** of the ground.

Then winter had been upon us.
Leaving us cold, desolate and empty.
Loneliness wielded a reckless brush
and had painted the backdrop
of our minds with vast whiteness
accentuated by the greys of uncertainty.

The leaf froze and crumbled to dust.
Just as we would have if not for
the mantra of hope.
Of which,
dreams might again spring forth.
Engulfing and taking us home.

We'd journey through scented spring -
soaking up the amber of days
and the fragrance of flowered fields.
We'd run our fingers over the tops of tall
dew-peppered grass.

We sing the same chorus
as we turn our heads towards
the suns of summer.
A haven where we believe all is hale
and the fires in our hearts
will once again be rekindled.

I consumed a small
vial of courage today.

And it got me out of my mind,
my aches
and my bed.

It got me showered,
dressed
and out the door.

It helped me on the bus,
through the rumble of
the exhausted engine.
It deflected the stares from eyes
who seemingly judged.

It placed me at work.
Fuelled me through
the sledgehammer ticks
that echo never ending seconds.

And I eventually find myself home...

So I consumed a small
vial of courage today.
And I'm brave enough
to admit that I'm afraid.

Afraid that I may be running out.

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.

Quell the discontent
that consumes my being.
Relieve the rage
so I could
turn the page
to a whole new beginning.

Alleviate the pain
from seasons lost.
Allow new seedlings
to grow into trees...
So I could
carve fresh grains
onto the scars from yesterday's cost.

Extinguish the fires
that grow ever brazen.
Let the blaze
make way for embers that glow.
So I could
lick my wounds and still
indulge in a little piece of heaven.

Quell the love
that has brought much strife.
Ease my breaths
so the future may seem kind.
So I could
trudge on through this phase of life.

A vessel set sail.
In the early call of day.
She lurched and bobbed,
as she moved across the bay.

From bow to stern
acknowledged by the morning light.
Her dew stained deck
- proof of restful slumber in the night.

With the earth’s fresh breath,
its majestic sail bloated full.
Her mast spoke in creaks
as wind and current made its pull.

A lone seafarer stood motionless.
His eyes squinted in the sun.
Deft hands on the wheel
as they steer and run.

Just out of the cove,
she’s now far off and seemingly small.
A silhouette about to disappear,
I await its return, when the sun begins to fall.

November days sees me pummelled,
bashed and clubbed to a pulp.
Buried then exhumed...
Skin and bones,
hair and scalp.

Dusks watch me stretch,
warp and break.
Bitten, chewed and spat out.
So that I could come together...
So I could nurse
the same old doubt.

Nights abrade,
as they span for hours.
They sap, they wear.
They mock and they jeer.
There is bittersweetness in the solitude
where coherence of mind
is scarce and rare.

Dawns greet with tiptoeing feet.
Cradle my body where it had lain.
They resuscitate me. Fill me up.
They ward off nightly deaths
so I am reborn,
again and again...


Into
November.
.

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.

Like the moon
who diligently makes way
for the coming suns.

(And at a time, most unfortunate.)

He saw fit,
to loosen his grip...

And watched his heart
fall and turn into a million
ruby shards and splinters.

Like the tiniest of pebbles,
ignored by the cool fingers of the laughing brook.

Like the obscure cave...
So inaccessible that it never sees the light of day.

Like the move easily dismissed.
When the queen overshadowed the rook.

Like the kite that spiralled downward.
When its string snapped and wind refused to play.

Like the pothole that tripped,
simply because indifferent feet would only overlook.

Like an idea that never sees fruition,
when open minds are scarce and clenched fists scream nay.

Like hidden reasons that remains unseen.
When we judge by the actions we conveniently mistook.

Like consequential words whispered under my breath.
They bear much weight...
But I'm too afraid to say.