Forever be

My love is cursed
and so my lips
shall never taste
the love they miss.

It is a lone,
cruel destiny
to walk alone,
forever be.

She bears no name,
I know this well.
I’ve searched the sea,
found only shells.

I guess this world
was not for me.
I’ll turn to ice
this heart that bleeds.

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The play

Alone in the dark, I write
as I dwell on thoughts into the night.
The world, my stage.
My life, the play.
The moon, my spotlight.

I perform to all who wish to see;
my solo act, myself and me.
There’s no applause,
no chants or roars.
My mood, the scene.

The lines I speak cannot be heard
by ears that listen alone for words.
The length unknown.
Its pace, my own.
The theme, absurd.

The performance, it continues still,
‘till suns don’t burn and looks can kill.
I know no more.
My future, unsure.
The play, my will.

The last Summer evening

God’s palette, it seemed,
had not much to spare,
for the sky was painted a monotone blue.
All through the trees,
was a still, silent air,
standing in wait like a crowd for the Tube.

They all hung like towels on a rail,
stood like guards at the gate.
They whisper with their leafy tongues
to let me know it’s getting late.

The bird houses now vacated
as summer bids farewell.
But my smile will not be faded
so long as I’ve stories to tell.

Watch me

I am a stranger to success,
but be not fooled by my past.
My time is rising like the morning sun;
watch me.

Upon the golden cup of glory,
there’s a part untouched by names.
‘See if it won’t be mine!’ are my words;
mark them.

I do not shine like the open fire
nor boast like the Olympic flame,
but I burn like them, none the less,
and grow.

I‘ve made no name for myself,
though I bear the initials APM,
the God of Time;
learn them.

Where the water looks like sky

The water’s reflection made it seem
like the island was floating upon a sky.
A carpet of grass glowed magnificent green,
and its shore undisturbed, less the boats sailing by.

The coolness licked my toes and my feet,
and the palm trees hugged me with shade.
There’s a man, tenacious, at the top of the beach,
reliant upon his traditional trade.

Back in my chalet, I rest alone,
lit by an attractive blue light.
I savour the moon, let it turn me to stone,
and lay down to sleep for my last island night.

Leaving by plane, I know in my heart
how I’d rather have said goodbye.
I wish I could leave upon an old wooden raft,
and dream my way home across this blue sky.

Wells

In a metaphorical world,
where reality and comparison meet,
we fill our pails with choices
from wells, running deep.

Those shallow wells make shallow souls.
For her you mustn’t weep,
she spilt herself too many times;
ain’t tears that wet her feet.

And though his well swims to the brim
you mustn’t be mistaken,
for his hot water runs blood red,
and best be seen forsaken.

But when I look into your eyes,
I know your well is true.
Let me dive into your heart
and drown in it with you.

We shan’t be tempted by colourful waters,
nor fill our pails beyond their peak.
He’ll show us where the well’s dug true,
where the water still runs deep.