I lie  below the moonlit sky.
The ground cold and damp beneath my naked form.  
Skin illuminated by  the moon’s cool and eerie gaze.
A single tear makes a slow trail down a pale and harrowed cheek.
Lost to the angst that threatens to engulf.
At war with the rot that spreads....deeper and deeper.
It has all but devoured me.
Its permeation almost absolute.
It’s wicked fingers needling and gouging my exhausted flesh.
The brutal **** and possession of my soul its ultimate conquest.
Like a forest fire it wages....out of control..insatiable.
Consuming everything in its wake.
Leaching the very life from my weary bones.
I hear a cry...faint...from somewhere distant yet intrinsic and inherent.
A voice ignored, dismissed and disregarded.
I feel a sudden wrench, a loss so profound it takes my breath away.
Fingers grasp empty air as my very essence departs and ascends.
Driven out by toxic demons.
I hear a final plaintive cry as my soul returns to the ether.
Lost to me forever.

The stillness is absolute - not a sound.
Not a whisper in the trees although I see them sway  in their drunken yet graceful dance.
In the distance blue skies invaded, scores of pairs of wings flapping madly,
Alert to a danger only they can hear.
Zigzag of black bodies, united in their plight.

In my meandering  along the riverbank I see the water rise and fall , each little crest tipped with gold , fleeting dalliance with the sun, now low in the sky, ready to give way to her moonlight sister.

As day surrenders to night I am reminded of the silent films - a feast for one sense only.
Ears rendered useless, hungry eyes soaking up every small detail.
In those moments of stillness a near perfect calm engulfs me.

Only to hover like smoke - opaque for seconds then gone.
Fleeting in our meeting - brief pirouette of joy.
Before my return to melancholia.
I know I shall return to stillness.
It’s just a breath away.

When you have flown... far, far away.
Be safe in the knowledge that I will be okay.
Each step I take a milestone on this journey we call ‘ life’.
There’s a rainbow in the distance, beyond this pain and strife.
When you lie in bed at night....don’t cry a tear for me.
For I am on my journey just like you,  I’m breaking free.

breathing the turquoise like lavender,
and sipping the blue summer.
bitter cold clouds glide and morph lava lather,
floating whispers cut by sweet pineapple sunshine.

soon, a moment, now
rhythms ripple the sky like skipping stones
we jump the music like puddles
splashing in the frequencies.

cobalt bass rumbles the earth hungry,
pumps the air with springing spirals
pushing and pulling the senses,
reverberating through cells.

heavy mud humming, stomping
echoes through our atoms dizzy;
balancing tuned body to innate electricity
the fizz of circulating lemonade energy.

we jump the music like puddles
splashing in the frequencies.

strawberry melodies spilling ribbons,
dolphin leaps of the spaces inbetween beats,
lines of colours overlapping,
colliding, mixing, merging, blending
in with the forest.

washing over souls the life fire sparkles
like a clear water cleansing harmonies,
sound waves crashing against inertia.
phosphorescent glow of re-charged love
for the world, for being, animation

flowing through burnt smoky ashes
of sapphire charcoal skies;
dimmed radiation of chlorophyll emerald days.
the smell of salt, dry bark, fluffy carbon mists,
trembling lights softening the eyes'
grip on outlines, loosening lies.

watching the cycles of patterns
tumbling colours through a mill rotating,
and the silence of listening
when the music comes to an end.

A sound,
caught up in the silence
a mistake by natural cause;
The winds whispering
through the grasses
trying to find an ear to tell
Their secrets
The movement of a domestic cat's ear,
swivelling to catch an unheard vibration;
a voice
Your mind trying to tell you that it was nothing,
yet succumbed to the lie itself
it's tendrils unfurling fully,
controlling more than you'd like
A sound,
caught up in my ear,
Begging
to be heard.

A tortured artist’s muse, an abstract concept that could never truly be defined. Though, they tried. Aspiring Picasso’s came like passerby’s, setting up their easels, trying to capture the essence of a moment. An ever changing scenery in constant flux. A single clip of time, forever evading the masterpiece. There was only ever a beginning, as frustrations with the unrelenting storm tore the portrait to the ground with each passing breeze. They failed to see the beauty in starting each day with a blank canvas, always determined to brush every stroke perfectly into place before the sun set. The love for the view was lost, so desperate to embody it completely they forget to appreciate it entirely, as layers of color paint a picture of indifference. But tell me Pablo, would you label the bird as callous for wanting to leave the branch...or would you gaze with the all the wonder of life watching it flap its wings?

she is my sun and she is my symphony
i am but a petal in her garden
i want to be a rose