I was born
In metal and machines
Taken from my innertia
and used for anothers gain
until I was discarded
floating lifeless
useless

But then I came to rest
Here, among the golden sands
In this salty aired serenity
Away from the torment of man
and I once again found innertia.
and my peace resumed.

I go
Along that lichen path
so white, and straight
so assertive of mystical quality
along the barren rocky coast

I am old now
and what were once white houses
on far off misty shores
are now gulls against cloud
sitting in the water

Here is a special place
A place of many childhoods
my childhood
but still here
steadfast against this changing world

I cast my offering in
a Penny
into this rockpool
which has forever faithfully been named
the wishing well.

Pulling flowers out of the grass,
Holding them in the sunlight,
Then let them fall ,
Past those deep eyes which hold me,
And that sparkling smile.
The mouth that spins that voice,
So unsuspected but enchanting.

Sitting there for hours on end,
Content to bask in optimistic sunshine.
There is no breeze,
To unsettle your hair,
Or to send a shiver
Arcing through my back.
But that needed no breeze.

I can see no Islands
Across the glittering sea
My mind is alone within itsself
Playing among the sands

No thaught, no reason
Only feeling, in sepia light
Everything is distant and dreamy
Like a smile from long ago

The nagging emptiness
drowned out by shimmering birdsong
the feelings of dread engulfed
by something worse

Beauty so sinister
A dark whispering among the lights
painful euphoria
and the urge to escape

I washed up here again
so soon after I built my raft and set sail
Hypnotised by the sound of crashing waves
on the island of the lotus eaters

I bleed my resistance,
But you will never bend my knees.
I will not come with you.
You will not take me.
I will lie, defiant,
Hunched in the dark
Until I bleed my last.
And breathe no more.
You will not drag me,
Bedraggled
Into the maw of hell,
Or into hedonistic heaven.

I will fight,
Until my blood runs empty.
And as I lay in the dust,
Numb and hollow.
I will have beaten you
One last time.

Trapped as the mime,
Inside four walls.
You scream,
A frightened sobbing scream,
Echoing back to you.
As the sound devours,
And the conscience does not forgive
The foolishness of your hedonism.

The hurt comes,
From Soul and Hand.
But mostly from the absence of pain,
Rendering you rictus.
Curled up, nestling away
From cushioned, leisurely survival.
Nothing to despair in,
Save from the confections of your head.

Sanguinem animarum.

As the follower sheep,
Send forth their crooked emissaries.
To bend the goodness,
with a sinister sickening voice
I fold my arms,
Inside my head,
And stare you down.
My eyes will burn.
My look will unsettle.
The more you try,
The more resistant I become
To following you.

You may hold your belief dear,
And it may comfort you.
But know this, If it comforted me,
I would be by your side,
And not opposite You.
Showing the wrath of the proselytised.

Here I sit,
Trapped in the doldrums
Of a sightless sea.
No wind blows the sails
In my dormant mind,
And my pen can spew no ink,
For no thaughts come forth
To carry it.

Beautiful faces
Cry for words and tears,
But are unanswered,
For in my head no muse can stir.
I feel wretched here.
No words can I weep to page,
For my tears are spent
On trivial matters.

Pathetic feelings take me
As my inner voice
Cries out for my spirit
A mere corpse in a muddy field
It never shall rise.
What can I think, of this life
When an eternity of effort
Reaps the same reward
As none at all
Why is it worth it,
When it all comes crashing down
And may as well never have been?

I feel the fire of awakening,
Blazing behind my eyes.
But I shall sleep now,
And let it wash over me
To purify.
As the evil is repulsed,
Like black oil from water
banished from my being.

In the morning,
I shall rise,
And I shall fight you.

You tell me I am not myself,
Yet can you tell me who I am?
Perhaps who I was and will be
Are two entities divided
by a sea of sorrows.

I will seek my answer,
When the war inside my soul
Brings forth it's manifestation
In flesh and blood.

From my captive being
Where nestled melancholy,
Can rush forth to battle.
And bring me peace again.

Let me awaken, again
For another last time,
Not wiser, but wounded
One turn closer.

Bring me peace.

The fog hovers
From the crowns of the pines
and the snow blows past
scouring the land

The howling wind arcs
around the sparse summit
as the pale, pastel sun shines
giving little warmth

From his mighty horse
Odin looks down the valley
wrapped amongst his red cloak.
He awaits the day

From your body
Seeps forth that ancient sorrow
a melancholy radiance
carrying a mystic prescence

I reach out, my fingers seek to meet
The rock, which has been met
by so many, for great eons
Since you were braught here

Standing stone, you have seen
So many ages pass, since those misty days
in the sepia of time
and you shall see so many more

I cannot invision your lifespan
it is distilled in my head
into the slow beating of a drum
and chorus of eternal voices

I hear your song.

You kneel, shivering,
Overlooking your world.
With the knowledge in your mind
That here is the core,
Here is most true.

The eyeless storm,
with cold grey lightning,
and crushing thunder,
lording over a world
of ash and dead trees.

Like a draught
From the mouth of a demon,
the screaming wind
savages your form,
snatches at you heartlessly.

The gale is the only sound,
To permeate this plain,
And it steals your joy,
And batters you onto your knees.
Trying to render useless your escape.

You want to run
To hide away in pain,
But there is only here now.
This dreamscape you created
Within you.

Time slows down,
And the urge to smile,
Must not be realised
For that would break the spell.

Please leave me here,
Holding you tightly,
Feeling your warmth.
Trapped in a neverending kiss.

The wind sings in the empty bottles
and a pulse on the air
a heartbeat
laying, in unfamiliar poses
indecisive
sleepless
so quiet
no soul breathes,
nor ponders these things
we are alone in you
the sickly red night.

So long asleep,
But now I see me.
In the sand where I was left,
Awake under the suns glow.

So long thirsting,
But now I throw
Myself, head first,
into a cool clear oasis.

My mind feels clear
And like so many times before
I want this to be true.

Take me away,
Away from here.
And bury me alive
In loud and beautiful music.

Make me feel whole again,
Floating in the song.
May it carry me to peace,
And to you.

Why is my sense of self
lying shattered on the floor
Not tidied up
Since the last time.

I need not my own mind,
To justify myself.
I need only the justification
Of a friend.

For the soft care,
Like a beautiful chime,
To whisper through the music
And reach my heart.

I feel crushed,
Under the weight of your dissapproving eye
And your sincere care.

You remind me of the path I chose,
And I chose poorly.
You dispute who I am,
And make me want to retract my sin.

You remind me of the flaws I hold,
These flaws crippling.
You stay strong, tolerant,
But I know it hurts you.

I wish my free-will cast upon the earth,
For the dissappointment and hurt you feel
When you behold my being.

We are not gods, despite your perfection,
But I pray to you for forgiveness.
And I yearn for you to pray for me
To be stronger.

One word from your mouth ,
Stops me in my tracks.
My momentum for vice gone.

I cannot betray you,
I will not blaspheme against that care filled face,
I shall be better
In your name.

They make no words for thee,
And had they done so
I am too weak a man
to weep such things
onto white ****** paper,
Much less to hold such words,
And pass them to you in a kiss

Such unmade words are a fleeting foolishness,
Cunning against my heart.
May I remain a foolish man
Lest the words be passed,
Through loves cruel lottery,
And your beauty become another's,
On a whim of sadistic chance.

I can never know if the words are true,
Like the feeling which spawns them,
Which no two can compare,
And in their doing so can both be wrong.
Perhaps not one of us is right,
and all of us, Brothers in idiocy.
We know not words which are not made.

The words describe a fleeting spark.
A moment passing if not grasped,
to another and another.
Weak and unfortunate Is the man,
Myself, who cannot create these words.
But again the wheel turns,
For they make no words for thee.

We must not Love
Yet love we must.

A hand, grasping a human heart
Pulling at it from below
Making you bend inside
Stealing away your ease

No peace shall find you
Whatever path you take
A face, ever engraved upon your soul
Beside you, but afar

As you open your eyes at night
Those eyes meet you
Piercing your soul
And their owner does not know

And a voice, not theirs,
Not yours, whispers sweetly
Into your mind as you sleep.
Reminding you it's always there

Although it's owner has never been
And has never imagined to be.

Your piercing eye
Burning with intense serenity
A single tear
holds more spirit
more depth
than my whole being

How can you dive,
Dive so deep into your soul?
when I can but wade
or flounder, and drown
and become lost
in that single eye.

Where did you go, my love, my freedom?
When did you become so enigmatic
Fleeing as my child spirit withers?
So many questions had I for you,
Before you left me, cold and downcast.
Looking into the mud at my feet.
Denied the shimmering sky above me.
Why is it so, that I am trapped,
Among the odious weeds of some sea
Where unspeakable realities grab my ankles,
When all had promised it would not be so.

I feel trapped tears now,
Upon my trapped soul.
And cannot cry for want of a shoulder.
I cannot weep my words truly onto page,
For they emerge weak and corrupted,
Manifestation of my incompetence
I cannot stand my foolishness,
For they once told me I had knowledge.
They did not tell me true.

All those portraits in the books
In your hazy childhood
From the brushes of painters
Who you did not know.

And, among them a face
Which made you smile
That one had something
That seemed more human than the others.

You always went back to the book
Just to see that face again
You didn't know why
What drew you to it

The world is your book now
And it is full of many faces
From a maker you do not know.
There is still that face.

Colour cannot bring itsself to be here
Here, among the snowy trees
Which have become so old, and twisted
That even they no longer hold beauty

The branches drag, and whip
And pull you in by the heart
Then leave you, a broken toy
To wonder searching for the hopeless

It is so cold, and dark here
And ancient beyond measure
The snow is long trudged
But bears no footprint
As the branches bear no mark.

Even a melancholy wind
Or weeping gale, would instill more joy
In this wretched place
But instead, suffocating silence
Demanding impossible cries from the soul.

These trees yield to no blade
Or to the sands of time and decay
For the holder of the axe
Will find his own blood in the snow.

You could not bring yourself to take a path
Instead lying in the snow, hoping against hope
for escape which would not come
It only lead you here.