Please wear a skimpy tank top,
In shades of grey as I prefer,
I so not beg but dream,
I dreamt of high-heels and
Tank-tops revealing mostly
Skin
.
Please then read the writings,
Upon the wall my words are true,
In black on white the words of you
& Us, no longer spoken in tune
.
Please write you words, a response
In kind,
& I will be here
Waiting
Your daily routine
The contemplation of experiences
Or that which you call life
will to a greater extent improve
Once you realise that
in an equation of only constants —
There can be no variety
a seasonal & good intention of a friend
to promote my writing ambition
providing another means to pen my intimate thoughts to paper
this night though I can only see an open casket
a celebration of that which could have been โฆ
without tears shed —
the ink stains
& the angel spoke of mountains
of hills filled with scattered dreams
of dreams ripe for plucking
& tea lights – unlit
As I kiss the mountains ablaze,
My lips turn blue.
As I embrace the fiery rage,
My senses go cold.
I pray to no-one as no-one listens,
I whisper the words of wisdom to the witless.
As I kiss the mountains ablaze,
I find my spirit unheeding
Three Hundred and Eighty Million years ago
A tree slowly grew
The first erection of planet Earth
Sucking carbon dioxide out of the air
& here we stand
Not knowing which way to turn
Not knowing which way is up
With hope slowly fading
& prayers spoken as if
we were not to blame
for the failings
right there, in front of us
I do not miss the one you call Mother
the one that speaks with prior knowledge
the one that speaks in the tounge of others
the one whose children far outnumber
the ones that passed the womb as measured
as regular children are decendants of the crown
as the blessed children of the one before us
I do not miss the one you call Mother
the one in gray tones and grey matter
the one of perm of purchased styling fathomed
whose children far away are scattered &
one with offspring and
another without
yet far apart
yet apart
yet far
yet &
yet
not
at
a
.
