Reckoning

The day smothers me,

With a kiss empty of promise,

The hours bleed out from the dawn,

Sunlight shifts across the sky,

Casting shade on my sorrow,

Blinding my eyes so I cannot see,

Unready for the reckoning, to come.

 

My stubborn heart,

Bends toward the day,

Seeking a fool’s reward,

For seeing through,

This list of disappointments,

Written in solitude,

I check the time,

Seconds tick by,

I remain, motionless.

 

A storm rages in my heart,

With each breath entering my lungs,

A violent pulse moves me,

Toward the inevitability,

Of day folding into the earth,

In her veil of black,

I am paralysed,

When the hungry earth,

Wraps me in her blanket of thorns.

 

Cold sweat,

Of the night terror remains,

Anxiety rushes through my veins,

Day pierces the shade,

I stare into the light of the sun,

Unready for the reckoning,

To come.

Count on That

I was not the enemy,

Yet I walked blindfold from the precipice,

As darkest dreaming smothered me,

I knew I couldn’t count on you.

 

Now, I wake from the blackout,

To admit my foolishness to you,

Feel I owe you an apology,

And a piece of my pain.

 

Sorry, never good enough,

For your shell-shocked heart,

And moral judgement,

As foolish as I am,

I knew I could count on that.

 

I was not the devil that tempted me,

I was not the reflection that cracked me,

I was not the darkness that took me,

I was not the faith that left me.

 

Sorry, never good enough,

For your blind anger,

But I don’t blame you,

For you were not there,

I knew, I could count on that.

Footprints in the Frost

Soft sentiments, poetic,

Heart-warming verses,

Neatly written by innocent hands,

On pristine pages of tidy notebooks,

No torn pages, no crumpled paper,

No dogeared corners, nor crossed out words,

No bend or break in the spine of the book,

With certainty, and self-assured peace of mind,

Soft sentiments, poetry,

Heart-warming verses,

They belong to a character, in a book,

I’ll never write.

 

Because I’m starving for words,

Shivering and shaking at the back of my rented home,

It’s winter at 4am,

Starlit in pinpricks of white,

Against a deep black sky,

Clear night,

The silver moon in full bloom,

Thick frost glistening, crunching underfoot,

A dog howls in a neighbouring yard,

My breath wheezes smoke rings,

That curl, drift, fade, soft into the cold air,

Like ghosts.

 

 

I wonder why I’m out here,

With you,

On a night like this where the currency of ink is all spent,

And the soul shrinks back into the landscape,

Unseen.

 

I admit you caught me out,

Whispering at solitude,

Screaming silently,

Cursing shadows,

Caught me-

 

Leaving footprints in the frost,

For you to follow,

-Before you dare lift your pen.