Poetry Drafts

The pain of the passing, undoubted, no warning as if mortal man of lesser knowing gave up the life freely. Shaking, trembling as only the last day of summer can. The tale of bitter ale, quenching the thirst of life, from barren lands up mountains and mounds. A sun is setting over desert and dust, an empty chair topples and dies.

Bacchus, oh Bacchus
honey dripping slowly down
mixing with the blood of young
the hips so slender, waving
enticing, inviting me in
rave
rave
rave
I feel no fear my dear
your almighty power
releases me
the voices I hear
are dead in my ear
the sea of souls
embraces me

You bathed in my energy,
cleansing you broken heart,
swimming in the river of life,
done but not apart.

So pretty in pink,
and fully covered,
you reached out far,
to the wicked stars.

Fearless on stormy seas,
stormy on quiet nights,
we raced head to head,
aimlessly.

Paris in the spring,
no one would win,
the game of life,
no wishes, all demands.

In the lap of the gods,
we get what we deserve,
in the lap of the gods,
only the silent call is heard.

Sometimes
you run out of words
silence takes over
silent
until your breath
and heartbeat
becomes the voice
whispering
you need no words
you need no words
you need no words
and then
and only then
you are at peace

I used to travel the world, sitting in my grandfather’s lap. He had an old Texaco map, and I an imaginary friend.

The world was very flat back then, his fingers cold, so stiff so hard. Turning pages, going off somewhere new, with Amelia by my side.

The travelling did eventually stop, old age and poor health got the better of him. I lost my way the day that he passed. Will she ever come back to finish her task? To guide the lost boy back on his path.

Go gently with me as
my bones are brittle and
my heart is cracking more
by every passing day with
the sound of little feet
fading further and further
into the shadows of that
we perceive as real and
closer and closer to the edge
of that which is only dream.