Hearts

I looked back once and already it was fading,

Like a single blood drop in a sizeable heart of water,

Softening away with the enigmatic speed of musing,

For a second, second I felt something while I was gazing,

Liquefying my insides were not about any sort of order,

Sunken reason, knew all too well that it wasn’t worth refusing…

So I looked back twice and gasped at my own foolishness,

Feeling braver than a red sun oddly rising on a gloomy day,

As if the improbable is nothing, like a kiss without a forlorn stare,

From first light to just before last, rid of all prudishness,

It was a little less now, as it seemed immeasurably further away,

Not so much as a whisper secreted through the touch of lips that dare…

So I looked back a third time as if I had something special to tell,

Something so profound time would surely give back what it has taken,

So that all my spoken words could at least soften and free my one feeling,

But I’m afraid it was just the questions that burned me straight to hell,

Opening the ground beneath me as it was my entire world that was quaking,

Overwhelmed utterly with a peculiar sense of falling I finally grasped the meaning…

It would seem I was always looking forward at what lay before me,

Through glistening tears that blurred memories that were,

Mirroring phantasms of what I thought of you,

Apart, there’s something rattling loose and free,

Of its resolution one cannot be quite so sure,

At the very least, both our hearts are true…

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Third Side

Who ever tells the third side of the story,

That witness account that’s never really perceived?

Without even a voice to state the lies poorly,

Or a mechanism to believe that we ever disagreed,

There was me and what I was long ago told,

Together with a wisdom watered down by exploits,

And there was you, with what you will keep until you old,

More than a passionate faith that punctuated your points,

I saw, you heard, but did either one of us really feel,

Anything beyond that singular first-person basin,

Something pulling our insides outside of our real,

To expose the epitomes that we were both chasing?

The Lover

It was like being caught in the stillness,

Of a great sprawling pine forest,

Carpeted with an infinite number of needles, orange and splendid,

That first time that I saw her…

Was she appearing or disappearing I failed to ask,

Shimmering between the odd oak or gum tree,

Like wild lilies in a spinning world,

Seen through the eyes of a child, dancing in the wind, daring the skies…

It is innocence that invites hope to come out and play,

Like those little fairies with their tiny feet,

Somewhere in the moss, a beautiful thing thriving in the dark and wet,

I didn’t expect any regrets…

It was impossibly too early to be contemplating complications,

Thick like brambles that dangle their berries,

On twisted branches littered with thorns that beg the question,

Was I indeed thinking when I reached for that flower?

I guess not, but neither do those five horse when they frolick in the sun,

Or those curious birds with their instruments serenading the shadows,

As if it was the most natural thing to do,

I was simply drawn to you…

-Silence-

I waited like an empty bench in a botanical garden,

Waited as if I expected the showers to pass,

Weighted by half-answers from an unrelenting past,

I felt like waterfalls weeping from the streams that feed them,

But I believed in us…

Believed enough to spend rainy days building fires,

Scars and burns upon my fingers,

Counting the cold misty nights,

Waiting until caterpillars turn to butterflies,

Only to see moths dead by the candle light…

Alone,

I loom,

Large like a mountain with a ridge like a Hog’s back,

The winds blow loud enough to reprise the voices,

They bring more clouds…

On the muddy path I thought was less travelled,

The forever-foraging black ants secret away pieces of my heart…

Purging Hearts

Purging hearts,

When searching starts,

Then when we felt most apart,

Uncertain loss,

From a fate at fault,

Dawdling through an unforgotten past,

Purple spots,

The fertile drops,

Of mirth that smudges where it stops,

Hurting throbs,

Where the thirsting is from,

Darkening the scarlet in the eye of the strop,

Irking plots,

Of pairs lurking in lots,

Paste the conniptions of needs and wants,

Urgent harks,

Hear the reoccurring sobs,

It is I and others in a seemingly changing cast,

Virgin masks,

Its’ disturbing what’s lost,

An innocence that makes deception an art…

Night Fever

It holds me through the night like the colour of madness,

A thin and odourless sweat that drips from a cold place,

Curled up and bare I feel it all over not unlike sadness,

From my stiff toes to my aching back even to my cut off face,

It finds me there deep in that place of wandering thoughts,

Which get hunted by hairless creatures that feed on sleep,

Across soaked fields in floating lands in battles of all sorts,

It is here too, washing away what I’ve lost and cannot keep,

It mixes amply with the air that I breathe without choice,

Rising wetness that condenses on the path that I’ve travelled,

Through a life of dreams so loud they make an unheard noise,

Something of a disturbance to the wakefulness that I’ve channelled…

A Knife in the Dim Stirs

Who listens to tales that have been told before?

So endlessly more like the cobwebs that thread the stars,

Even from way afar one can tell that inner voices have no ears,

No blinking tears that could puddle at a dreamer’s bare feet,

Filled with impassioned speech for the life of him or her,

A knife in the dim will stir that muscular pounding thing,

Not there to think whether taking flight or loving,

In spite of nothing it is just what we must be,

Stabbed and free flowing dark and scarlet,

The only hard bit is deciphering the comings –

It’s just some things – from the unaccounted goings,

Within the mindful sowings of reaps yet to be harvested,

These hardest things cause worlds to slide upon soft ice,

With closed eyes we dance with specters that deny the light,

Romance’s stroppy plight orchestrated to a melodic symphony,

This could simply just be another what happened moment,

Where something unspoken might just be the difference,

The least resistance blending desire with need,

That indeed would be a tale for sure…

Nine Gems & I

A living thing blesses my soul in nine different ways,

Shimmering change courses through my being waking me from a daze,

One is her face that is of an exquisite beauty made so simple,

Like a diamond trickle on a smooth surface imagined by the most crushing wisdom,

Emphasised not just a little by intensely youthful eyes that glower like orbs,

Or flowering spores soaking in the natural world while penetrating through their unique form,

Able to absorb the magnetic draw of her luscious gravity defying smile,

Another is her style that flickers in the wind over powering my senses and blowing my mind,

Releasing wild fiery rebel stars that align the galaxy in chaos that my heart cherishes,

With every glimmer she embellishes something of a life lived directly through colourful memories,

Fantasies in sacred territories her visions are clear as I share them,

Tethered to her nightingale flare I soar through a reel of gold tinted self-fulfilling dreams,

How this feels is the third thing that allows my shadow to dance free,

Escaping me at those very moments when I am supposed to feel fear from remembering,

A past that’s temporary ever changing with the focus she brings so tempering,

Without attempting I could slumber for days and forget my search for meaning,

The fourth thing revealing that beliefs in deeper reasoning never quite left me,

The best of me defined in relation to her ebb and flow that just so infectiously lets me be,

Gently like a desire met unexpectedly at the height of widespread drought,

Can’t figure her out no not even nearly if I dared to try with a certainty beyond doubt,

This is ours this mystery that shrouds our entwined cosmic lives,

Thing number five is how we both suddenly realise that this is what we have waited for,

Since way before either one of us learned how to cradle the cries,

Something wrenching inside as the spirit always voicelessly demanded more and more,

Syrupy feelings pour through the cold veins beneath the layers of scars and scabs,

Everything I ever had now seems so minute like a puzzle piece to a garden on an open hand,

The way it was so unplanned is the sixth thing that has me so puffed up glad,

Innocence clad for once I can claim true naivety at the fateful slaughtering of this lamb,

Thus I am blissfully unaware of what it is that I am supposed to have,

Not so bad not even in the slightest she brings a warmth that settles me down,

Forgetting how at times I never knew how to let go,

There’s nothing though that I could ever take for granted about all of this,

What I resist is the seventh thing that I count in its wholeness,

I don’t need to be told this that she is a rare thing like an open hole in the sky,

Through which angels die and become forlorn lovers,

Above all others she rises in my sights like a sun never set on setting,

Unsettling a spell bound moon transfixed by its own waxing antithesis,

Our rhythm steadily increases to the thumping sound of magnetic attraction,

Consumed by our passion its hunter stalking hunter in a way that belies us both,

It is what has become exposed in us the eighth thing that has me staggering and on the wire,

 Naked and on fire I can no longer hide in this space that had become so hollow,

I can no longer wallow in the blasting winds of the screaming that had rendered me barely sane,

Love’s bane they’ve found me a special place,

Her body and its shape is the ninth thing that makes every inch of me burn,

She’s one endless curve brown and silky I just want to lie there,

Without a care except feeling what she feels and breathing her nightmares away,

Night and day like this is what I have earned,

Sharing what I have learned for whatever it is worth…