Winter has a joy for me,
While the Saviour's charms I read,
Lowly, meek, from blemish free,
In the snowdrop's pensive head.

Spring returns, and brings along
Life-invigorating suns:
Hark! the turtle's plaintive song
Seems to speak His dying groans!

Summer has a thousand charms,
All expressive of His worth;
'Tis His sun that lights and warms,
His the air the cools the earth.

What! has autumn left to say
Nothing of a Saviour's grace?
Yes, the beams of milder day
Tell me of his smiling face.

Light appears with early dawn,
While the sun makes haste to rise;
See His bleeding beauties drawn
On the blushes of the skies.

Evening with a silent pace,
Slowly moving in the west,
Shews an emblem of His grace,
Points to an eternal rest.

Shake dreams from your hair
My pretty child, my sweet one.
Choose the day and
choose the sign of your day
The day’s divinity
First thing you see.
A vast radiant beach
in a cool jeweled moon
Couples naked race down by it’s quiet side
And we laugh like soft, mad children
Smug in the woolly cotton brains of infancy
The music and voices are all around us.
Choose, they croon, the Ancient Ones
The time has come again
Choose now, they croon,
Beneath the moon
Beside an ancient lake
Enter again the sweet forest
Enter the hot dream
Come with us
Everything is broken up and dances.

(I cannot determine who is the coil)
Heavy ropes wrapped around me
So tightly wound up I can feel
My chest cracking, brittle bones
Breaking in unison.

The sound echoes throughout my skull
My temples pounding
Burning up in flames
Desperate to be extinguished
Praying for the fire to move downwards
To ignite the rope, for the conflagration
To run dangerously out of control
My body a raging inferno of war.

My voice choked
There’s not enough oxygen
I’m being suffocated
And only smoke signals
Are emitted from me.

I’m trying to reach, someone
Or something, in the distance
No one can come too close
And anything is always too far
It’s the unfathomable truth
Of my existence.

(I cannot determine who is the coil)
I cannot be understood
Because every look from another
Disintegrates me
And I become nothing more than
A sheet of searing flames.

But every time I’m left alone
I’m always screaming within
My body eating itself from
The inside out
Penetrating pain never laying
Dormant, my skin
its vivacious host.

Heavy ropes wrapped around me
Forging incessant loops
Smothering me to the point
Of death.
(I cannot determine who is the coil)

© Sia Jane

It's hard to write a poem
When there's nothing going on
It's hard to think of what to say
When you've given most of it away

As poets we never scratch the surface
We delve within, disclose our deepest sin
We crave our pain, declare it's for our art
Yet more often than not have no idea where to start

But start we do and start we must
A deep desire in all of us
To spill out on the written page
What little bit we have tried to save

Ink now is the poets blood
Fragments of self pour from within
Silence is our safety net
To stop us from bleeding out

Although it's hard to write a poem
With nothing going on
We still find words to form a verse
From deep within our marrow bone

Work © Mike Hauser & © Sia Jane