Late Nights

Sometimes inspiration strikes towards the middle of the night.

 

Sunday 5th March 2017

Restless and mentally wandering

well-trodden footpaths without

taking a physical step. Lost,

on the road of Thought and joined

by my companions ‘maybe’ and

‘when’. I walk through the labyrinth

of trees and earth that fill my

tired, mind and as I turn in ever-

growing circles I am searching.

 

 

Tuesday 21st March 2017

You will have caught a glimpse

of a Kingdom, not yours,

that lies beyond the mirror

and houses creatures with claws

and eyes with almond pupils

and hair as thick as fur and

the dance is always for them

as they glide across the floor.

 

They bare their teeth and smile

and smile and smile until their

partner tumbles, their feet bloodied,

unable to stand any more and

they cannot find themselves,

if they ever could, in the reflections.

 

 

Friday 24th March 2017

Dogging my heels and growling,

are the shadows of my mind

who wait for night to fall

before snapping their jaws

and they run, chase me through

the night until the sun rises

and they skulk back to the dark.

 

 

Wednesday 5th April 2017

Lost and waiting,

colder than the ground

beneath my open palms.

Ribbons of red

fan out amongst

the white from the sky

ad the rot of the earth.

 

My cloak is tattered.

My eyes and head bowed low.

My soul is shattered.

I wish that I didn’t know.

 

I have never found

the path again.

The path that

I once walked.

 

Now I am tired

of waiting to be found.

 

This is no way to hunt.

If my red cape has

lost it’s allure

I will shed what was.

 

I have become

what it was

that was hunted

and now the claws

and the thirst is mine.

 

Do you find me sweet now?

 

 

Friday 16th June 2017

An end which was actually an end.

There was no new beginning.

The snake could not reach the tip

of it’s tail and it’s fangs were no longer

sunk into it’s own flesh so that

the blood dripped, hot and fast,

and formed pretty patterns.

A clock. A doomsday clock

to tell you to the hour, the

minute, the second when you

will be gone and there is

nothing but an ending left.

Say your goodbyes and close

your eyes for there is nothing

left to do, no more dragons

to slay and all that was is gone.

Rest now, tomorrow will not

be waiting and every end is

a final stroke on the page.

 

Friday 4th August 2017

Wishes are little deaths of hope,
Cast into the sky and lost like pennies.
The atmosphere is choking on lost,
Abandoned words which are heavy
With longing but free from being tethered
To careless mouths that open the gates
And allow private thoughts to escape.
A wish, held close, and looked after by
Attentive minds coils tighter and tighter
Until truth picks it up with careful hands.
Do not cast out wishes of the heart.

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