Death Of A Brother

In a moment the deep known unknown collide, captured by a dome of muffled silence within a swirling sea of chaos and metal and a bloodied scull on asphalt.

Eternity painfully binds itself into a slow timelessness, outside the laws of nature into a cacophony of tears and blackouts and crying the impossible into existence.

Pushing away the heavy cloak of forever darkness, hovering over the battlefield of hopeless prayers and disoriented running and futile clinging onto life for goodbyes.

Nightfall brings tides of sleep and waking horror, a presence in the corner patiently repeating he’s gone and falling of a cliff and drifting into forgetting to remember.

Grief relentlessly stalking its bewildered pray, spilling into the light of every sunrise and threading itself through endless days and crashing into the brown box in a hole.

Eternity unwinds itself into the rhythm of time, unfolding into the guilt of life that remains and memories captured in scars and the loss of the what could’ve been.

End Of The World (Boarding School)

The world ended at dusk on a Sunday.
A mournful dusty red sun slowly dying
behind a cold silver barbed wire fence.
The child fractured into two at twilight.
A free barefooted spirit plays on a farm
as his clenched jawed mirror splinters.

The fabric that is love ruined in summer.
A slender, muted coloured, knotted cane
engraving painful abandonment in pairs.
The arrival of autumn leads the homeless.
A cavernous emptiness growing gradually
at the fortified gate of disappointment.

The doomsday crib of survival completed.
A protective shell to hide what is valuable
from the gnarling looters at witching hour.
The flowers of bereaved bloom in black.
A crude altar hastily erected in memory
of the premature death of the childhood.

Empty

The bluest forever eyes built me a home
from little make believe pieces of eternity.
In the soft glow of a brittle brick fireplace
undressed my scar riddled vulnerability.
It took a quilt sewn together with laughter
to warm my soul in exchange for a heart.

The fullest round bending forever lips
left soft chocolate promises on my skin.
In a comforting white goose feather fort
wiped dry, brown tear-filled pools of grief.
With graceful patients unbound the words scribed on the walls of a secret temple.

The brave soldier and guardian of a home
looked at a dark foreboding storm coming.
Watched as the thundering black clouds
stole sacred words and a quilt of laughter.
Pure crystal tears from blue forever eyes
for an empty soul without a heart to love.

The Memory Maker

I’m watching
the memory maker bleeding words
onto white cotton paper
from his dark quill of memories
sitting with a bow bent back
at the oak wood table of creation
stained by the lonely tears of history.
Seeing if
the candle of hope in his heart
dripping white wax onto dark ink
will survive the cold south wind
tucking at his old worn brown coat
touching the floor with a tenderness
from a distant time when all was new.

The Book of Emotions

The exhale of your sigh
ran the breadth of the desert
creating a wind to carry
gold, yellow and copper
pieces of sand
that whipped the letters
from the book of emotions
you dropped
at the oasis of alchemy
and blew them over my cheeks
in words of love and vulnerability
where I lay in the shade
of the tree of possibility
smiling at my stubborn refusal
to send them back to you.

Life

Life breaks through fault lines
in wild acts of defiant rebellion.
It paints its wilful disobedience
in rainbows over the desert sand.
Dark cold and abandoned corners
swirling in flames of fiery passion.

Life builds bridges for the future
with the tearful bricks of failure.
It stubbornly refuses hopelessness
with bright green shoots in black ash.
Using its wounded bleeding hand
to rescue the broken dying man.

Life waits with imperfect silent wisdom
to create a perfect miraculous moment.
It builds a peaceful harmonious flow
in the chaotic rhythms of the savannah.
It refuses to be bound humiliated tamed
every time a new breath joyfully cries.

The Funeral 

Bells of pure and ornate crafted gold,
cast their hypnotic vibrating spells
on the hollow silence of a red brick hall.
Soft remnants of fragrant grey clouds
drift up with slow ease, from incense,
to the open air of dark wooden beams.
Light breaks into fragmented colours,
from a single enchanting mosaic window,
onto a spartan coffin resting on the floor.

One lonely soul kneels on cobblestone,
folded hands, hooded head bowed low,
mournful guilty face obscured by shadow.
Softly, slowly, chanting starts and grows,
from full cracking pleading bleeding lips,
rolling rhythmically into a red brick hall.
Calling on radiant transfiguration of light
to illuminate a new path past his coffin
away from these bells, the smoke the night.