.
She was a,
Slow dying flower,
In the frost killing hour,
The moon we'd devour,
                                      The sweet turning sour….


She’d wilt when he came,
                                      The shadows weren’t the same,
                                       And who’d be the blame
  Of the frost killing hour.

What are these,
cold pebbles of
an infected love?
                                         The slow dying flower,
                                                in the frost killing hour,
                                                        th­e sweet turning sour,

& untouchable.
.

The glint of a gold coin discarded and under a hedge.
The unmistakeable ***** and ****** of the shrapnel congregating at the bottom of my pocket.
I can find any combination of currency in a lovely jingle jangle of metallic discs.
The cashier slips me a note and some change on top which spills onto the counter.
A 10 pence piece tries an audacious spinning escape morphing into a ball.
The change rattles again as it all settles at the bottom of my pocket after dropping in the new recruits.
I slide the discoloured crinkled creased five pound note into my leather wallet nicely nestling next to a ten pound note.
I love the  smell of ***** money!

Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am the thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in a mornings rush,
I am the swift up lifting rush.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there, I did not die.

(i did not write this. i'm not sure who did, but all credit goes to the author.)

Dear God,*

My soul is feeling idle,
My stomach kind of empty.
Everyday, I have the urge to feast upon your fruit tree
Because in this world of temptations sins are looking tasty.
But if I take a bite, can you blame me for this fault?
You made me in your image so tell me,
Why did you include flaws?

Now
It is time
To give yourself up.

Surrender,
Abandon all struggle,
Thoughts, worries and hopes.

Now
It is time
To be Silent.

Be as heavy and still
As the highest mountain.

Be as light and serene
As the delicate flower.

Now
It is time
To listen.

Listen in pure silence
As if trying to hear the voice of the sun
Rising at dawn.

Listen to the one who hears
And rest in this
Timeless equanimity.

Don't do that, babe,
don't tell me I'm not trying.

I swam through 12 oceans and drowned
in every single one of them but
each time the water swept into my lungs
and the fish started swimming
in my bloodstream.

I spat it all up and went on swimming
'cause I know I can't face another day
without you in my mind.

There will be no life rafts
and I will definitely not pop in the middle of the ocean
like murdered bodies in crime scenes.

I am a ****** sinking ship.

I promise you
I will make it to shore alive, though.