Window

Four blades of lead line this fine sheet of crystal
fitting it into the baulking bastion that I call a home.
Without company and webbed by solitude, the division
between the plane of reality and sanctuary binds me
to a blackness, bleaker and colder than a void.

The decay of an exalted life is so pungent
that it supplants the strongest of men.
Forgotten, ignored, I agonise over the loss of light, hope – human contact.
Confused and broken, I bicker bitterly over what was, what could have been
what will and what will never come to pass in the morbidly disfigured carcass
I call life.

 

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Static

Gears and engines of the world
Grind, pump, push.
Giving rise to society in its wake
Skyscrapers taller, mansions grander
Human throughput, greater.

But what of those who art not fuelled by fire
But passion! Ancient, yet forever fraying souls
Of the humanity that binds us to progress.
Augmented living, but at heart
Man himself is static.

Extraction

Late this morning, I saw a world;
a world of the dream. Hazy-eyed,
a view eerie, yet terribly surreal.

I saw you there, close by me.
You held me, fingers clasped.
Gripping everlasting love.

Abrupt flood. Asphyxiated.
Falling away from what once was.
Sudden revival. I’m back…

Memories – blotched.
Feelings – sustained.
Truth – extracted.