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


Of those who missed

The light.


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

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.