Between notes

In the chambers of time, I hear music

Echoes of a flute played softly

The alarming drums of lament

The harp of broken dreams

Oh, the unending notes on the piano

Bearing novel dreams of mortal hue

The orchestra plays through the hours

Its somber notes keeping time

Kept by time

Unknowingly we isolate certain sounds

Or find comfort in the orchestra

At times it is the drum that keeps us company

We send little butterflies of dreams,

Riding upon each note of the interminable harp

Flying straight into the menacing dark

Into the lethal heart of the flame of time

This concert is fertile with the illusion of choice

We seek the harp, spurn the drum

We tap our feet to the beat again

The songs of tomorrow now forgotten

Lost in the noise drowning our inspiration

This moment is but one note,

One string on the harp, one tap of the drum

Borne are we by the echoes

Upon the orchestra of timeless time

Until we find repose and quiet

In the vacant halls of our passing

Where there is neither echo nor song

Not even a corridor of time to look to,

Neither one to look back upon.


Cosmic illusions

Our dreams have blinded us,

We reside in a universe of aspirations

While toiling like ants in the real one

Our labels dwell in the heavens,

Shining down on our folly

Those little lights of what we seek to be,

Scowling at the darkness that we are

Our kindness is but a distant planet

In this universe of expanding cruelty

The debris of our brutality travels in darkness,

Past planets of imagined tolerance

Dance with my words

In the grounds of obscurity we dance,

Words holding me by the arm

Even the wind is inaudible here

It attempts to describe what we feel

The lunacy of expression is unnerving,

Our maddening love making us unwise

We want to kneel at the altar of language,

To court the autumn of anguish,

Where amid the impulsive colours of nature,

The words seek to suffice,

To be enough

This dance is unending though,

The fair lady of conclusion opens not the casement,

My words and I looking expectedly

We woo but our own inadequacy


The woodland is dark, the trees fearsome

I have languished here a lifetime

Some have walked past my dwelling,

Others have sojourned for a day or two

The foliage of hope grows a little,

Only to die an early death

I have lived with those flowers,

And died with them

Many lives have we spent together,

Under the shadow of these menacing trees

Deprived of sunshine

Showers do descend upon us oft-times

Cleansing the hope, but never the fears

So long have I looked up to remorseless shade,

We’ve become reluctant acquaintances

In our silent fellowship,

The trees and I exchange wry glances

As we laugh quietly at your fury,

You seek to free me, to lead me out of here

Unknowingly, you break me from within

These trees were watered by my tears,

We’re one in our mutual aversion

On these leaves I sit peacefully again,

Not a rustle in the trees

Not a quiet moment within.

The disquiet

So little is left of me,

I bear the ashes of yesterday

As today passes me by despairingly

You speak softly now

These words are emotionless, not heated

Gentle rain to dowse the anguish

The embers of my fears,

The same I have nurtured unconsciously

In your loving words have I found,

The spaces of yesterday

To the eye these words are concrete walls,

Whence come these spaces then?

‘Tis these embers of my torment

I light them anew

This raging fire burns through all,

Your words, your love, your kindest care

Hold me now, speak softly some more

For I’ve grown too familiar to the light

The accursed light of these embers


In the loving arms of pain, I lie

The rays of comfort are an annoyance

The dew has rested here so long,

Its salty flood bears all that I am

The bright sun is unwelcome

A nuisance for the slumbering pain

Oh pull these curtains even tighter

For the sun of comfort is blinding

So long have I beheld the shapes,

With vacant eyes moistened with agony

The imagined silhouettes in utter dark

My company, my misshapen friends

To them I have innumerable promises

Pray, ask the sun to seek refuge in clouds

Let me sleep some more,

I must sleep until Sleep

Mist (ii)

The fog bears the pain of generations,

All hopes of the past rest in the lamp

The wind calls out to the dead

I breath a little, awaiting my call

The lamp is our folly illuminated,

Seeking to own the dancing fog

Limitless is the fog, a universe in itself

The foolish lamp is in egocentric love

The lamp is our instinct to limit words,

Words that change like the ghostly fog

Never enough, never too much

Always there, like fog on a gloomy night


I break a little every day

Only to carry on again

The path is littered with pieces,

Bits of my sanity I have lost

Some days I pick them all up

Marvelling at the sunshine that sustains

On other occasions have I stumbled,

Stepping on my own shards

So many times have I been pricked,

Returned to sanity by my broken sanity

Soon there will be nothing to bear,

Naught to clean from the narrow paths

These paths lined with unwatered trees,

In the city of eternal disquiet

Valley within (i)

It was but yesterday

You dwelt upon my pauses

The weight of imagined words,

Of myriad fancies haunted you

Today I am bereft of conversation

Unvoiced words haunt me

I yearn for what I know not

My struggle has been with myself

The endless echoes of my existence,

Are the unheard screams of the dead.

To live

Along the road are many flowers,

A farewell to the winter of hope

The spring of broken dreams

Mine, yours and everyone’s

Abandoned hopes lie lifelessly

I want to seek that light again,

The will to live a life

Even the abandoned hopes beckon

But I have no desire to heed

The wind kisses the broken dreams

It bears messages of insanity

In the spring of broken dreams,

I am the autumn of hope