A little drop

I dropped the night

Into a watery sky.

And watched

it’s inky fingers spread.

Stains across the sun.

And smiled.

As I realised,

Silence was falling.

Broken only by the soft

Sighs,

Of those who missed

The light.

Aspired

Your bones
Cling still
To that wall.

A forever scene
Of your
Last stand.

Bleached,
The colour of time.
A pale reminder

That you tried

To climb higher
Than anyone

Is allowed.

What it is to ask

Will you make me a promise?

– A lie for you

To never get old.
But always be there.

Stay as strong as you are.
And as weak as me.

Will you make me a promise?

– A gift for me

To be everything I ask.
But more that I don’t.

Prop me up when I stumble.
Even if you fall.

Will you make me a promise?

– A story to tell

Never tell me the truth.
Even if I ask

– A heart to break

I Cannot Follow

On flew the bird,
Through bullets
Of rain.
Heavy and fat, on
Tiny bone and wing
Should snap.
Fierce drops try to hammer
Fragile life
To the ground.

Yet,
Unchanged, and elegant,
On she flies.

While I,
Am weighed down.
A thousand cold kisses
Have forced me
To stop.

And We All Looked

Ordinary,
Not enough
Or too much.

Just.
Said the girl.

To
The obligatory
Boy.

In the hope
That he too
Was,

Just.

Now,
Said the boy.

Not for long.
Soon, I’ll be extra
Ordinary.

Just,
Unlike you.

Sigh.
Said the girl.

And looked
Again.

Vicarious

My claim over the dead
Is strong.
For each and every one.

I tasted all glory,
Basked in grace.
Loved the turmoil and
Gloried at destruction.
Deeply as if my own.

Even more so.

My claim over the dead
Is strong
For each and all to come.

And yet,
They do not argue
With me.

Gaps in the stars

The king,
who was old,
and had opened his eyes,
smiled at the small man
now sat in his palm.
The black only found in the
night’s middle, seen by
those with no reason to rest,
coloured the man’s skin,
eyes and clothes.
The sky of the lost in human form.

The king,
who was old,
and had few questions,
asked the small night-man:
“Why do you seek my company now?”
A voice, of whispering midnight leaves,
replied: “There is no reason for you now. And I am friend to the aimless.”

The king,
who was old,
but king none the less,
grew angry with the man made
from gaps between the stars.
“I have reason and need, to be here
and lead.”
Though in his heart he was tired,
and full from life.

The man stood, stretched his arms
wide, holding the vast night in
one small embrace. And told
the king: “The stars you see,
that burn so bright, grant wishes and save many more for morning light,
they left this world, oh long ago.”
Slowly, the king smiled, as a small
man of darkness curled up in his hand.
Finally to sleep.

The king,
Was never old
In the stories they told.

Expected Shadow

How strange.
In this time
Of rapid
Destruction.

When I can feel
You. Sense you
At my shoulder.
Partner in unintentional
Crime. 

To find that you were
So very
Long
Gone. 

Catalogue

You fractured.
With a beauty fast and
Vibrant, yet achingly
Pointless.
If only.
You had stood still.
Long enough for me
To capture, define and
Distil your reason.

In The Light Failing

Sit,
With me.

In such radiance
Of pure falsity.

Its shimmering lies
Make me smile. 

So come,
Watch, ghosts
Just a while.