Turn over and sleep.

For all the promises made,
And all declared vows to keep,
When need arises to prove –
Just turn over and sleep.

With all the blood that rushes
In to wounds that run so deep;
When hopeful chance comes to heal,
Just turn over and sleep.

As a heartache comes coursing,
Forcing one to lay and weep,
When gentlest words are needed –
Just turn over and sleep.

Maybe it is all karmic:
One sows in order to reap;
So, when harvest comes calling,
You must turn over and sleep.

A body of mist

I ache to write the words
That tell of my heart
Being crushed like a grape
Under your thumb.
(It won't even make good wine.)
some sad story
I'll come to forget in time.

Why and the wheretofores
Shall be forgotten;
But never how you made me feel.
There won't be a need later,
You see,
To save your reputation
And put up a show of platitudes
That betray truth to conceal.

So I ache to write
How I feel –
I am pulled into two…
Love makes me want to dissolve
Into your arms:
My body a mist,
Under a warm blanket.
Pain reminds me of past mistakes
And regrets
And makes me shrink away –
So far –
To the edge of the bed
That I am about to fall
Into a chasm of nothingness.

It's sad to know
All love is the same.
All the lovers are, too.
Because perhaps what you desire
Isn't what they can give you.
Truth remains the same.
So you pull back –
And die a little –
And cover this desire,
Under a blanket of mist
That is now hopeless
And wet.

The Trend.

I watched the waves.
They crashed into the rocks.
A done-to-death metaphor.

I saw the foam stick.
I saw the spray hit the air.
While you slept.
The trend of all lovers.
Once the passion is dead.

The sea will recede.
The rocks at least have faith.
The sea will return.

I walk back home.
To my side of the bed.
Sleepless and faithless.

Valentine 2011

Time has a way of stealing away love.

It corrodes from the outside to within.

Now it becomes hard to decipher

What is virtue and what is sin.

There are countless people who say they love,

Though hate eats away their souls as they grin,

Whereas those people who profess to scorn,

Have compassion housed deep within,

And what I see all around me

Is a hollowed belief caving in.


Through this tumbling sanctuary of dreams,

This exhausted race to figure it all,

You have been the constant,

You have been my wherewithal.

You are my Atlas,

My valiant mark,

You are the candle

Shining in my dark.

Life says, all changes, everyone will leave;

You disproved, and I go on to believe.

You Are

You are the drop of rain
Upon my heart’s parched dry ground;
You are the one who took
My still heart and spun it
Around and round and round.

You are the sweet sunshine
When things look too, too grey;
You are the arrowed sign
That points out, when I’m lost,
The right turn on the way.

You are the smile I smile,
You are the tear I cry,
You were my hope in the past,
You will be the last breath
I inhale ‘fore I die.

You are the love I give,
You are part of my name,
You are to me my Pride,
My eyed Beauty, my Lust
And all I want of Fame.

You are now far, farther
Than any star ‘twould seem;
Yet you possess my thoughts
Awake I dream of you,
Asleep you are my dream.

4th July.

The Fool’s Song

“Love me, love me, love me, love me,”
I sang along my way –
A flower filled way, ‘pon a green lea –
One gold summer’s golden day.

I stooped to pick a red, red rose,
Then asked its petals bright:
“Dost thou love me, o red, red rose?”
But it closed in darkness tight.

“I love thee,” said a prickly thorn,
“My love for thee ne’er died.”
But my rose dead, I was forlorn,
And cast rose and thorn aside.

“Love me, love me, love me, love me,”
I sing along the way,
Still filled with flowers, ‘pon the green lea,
Where I once threw true love away.

7th August.


The crows chant their morning song.
It’s the heralding of a new day.
The darkness seems to wander away
As the black birds spread their wings
And open their black beaks
To welcome the first ray of Dawn.
Hear their cacophony!
The sound of a saw
Then cut off, after a syllable,
Uttered and broken,
But completing its duty.
Being its nature.
Oh! A sparrow chirped!
A bright chirp! A little chirp!
Chirp, chirp, chirp, chirp.

But the Dawn
Belongs to the crows.

Darkness has found a way to live on.

7th August.