Snapshot 6

And we sat, with the machines beeping and the rain falling against reenforced glass.
You always liked stories. We would spend our pillow talk on make-believe, not wishing to analyse the events of the day, only wanting to share our duvet cocoon with peace and love.
So as the weather outside reflected my mood, I told you a story. One last story.
About a man who was rescued, although he didn’t realise he needed rescuing. About a man who was blessed, although he was not religious. About a man who was rewarded for years of bad luck, with a lifetime of good luck in one perfectly formed package.

As I watched your eyes, unmoving behind closed eye lids, I wondered what you were thinking. What you were seeing, with your minds eye. Did my words get through? Did they reach you?
I wanted you to hear me, I wanted my words to form a bubble, a perfect little world in which my story lived.

To me, that’s what stories are – worlds enclosed in a membrane that, at the merest touch, will pop and free the story from within.

I don’t want my last image of you to be of you there, in that bed, body broken and sick. I want my last image of you to be this:
You, stood with your arms wide, head thrown back, laughing at the hundreds of bubbles that float around you, conjured with my stories. Reflecting the last of a dying sun on their glistening surface, dancing and moving with your breath. And with each touch of your finger, a bubble bursts, and gifts to you a story that I have made. That’s how I want to remember you.


Rooms Of The Dead

This is a piece that suddenly arrived, and had to be written. It hasn’t happened like this for a long time and I’ve missed it. I hope you like it, morbid though it is.

All is quiet,
In the rooms of the dead,
Where the dust of what’s past
Lies deep.
A shadow, it grows,
In the silvery glow
Of a moon that forbids me
To sleep.

All is dire,
In the rooms of the dead,
Where the dreams of the dark
Do creep.
My memory shows,
With the pictures it knows,
A dark past with such secrets
I keep.

All is final,
In the rooms of the dead,
Where the truth of the soul
Is bleak.
All punishment owed,
And for whom the bell tolls,
A dark sowing is now mine
To reap.

For Five Years I Had Roses

I’ve had the title of this one in my mind for a long time. Just that one single line. I’ve finally managed to work it into a whole piece. I hope you like it.

Now comes the end of what we had,
Betrayal in every form,
Mistaking love for brutal lust,
Ignoring signs that warn;
This chapter of my storied life,
Regrets now as it closes,
But I will always fond recall,
For five years I had roses.

The words that hurt were said with glee,
Control in every thought,
Promising care and honour true,
Revealing all when caught;
I doubt myself and what I knew,
The questions that this poses,
But I will always tell myself,
For five years I had roses.

And now I must make strong my stand,
No more look back and mourn,
I’ve taken hits to heart and soul,
My inner beauty torn;
To once again turn to the light,
And love all it exposes,
But ’til the end I’ll always know,
For five years I had roses.

Chasing The Moment

I wrote this tonight. I toyed with adding another verse or two, but these seemed to say all I wanted to say. I hope you like it

It lasts a breath, a single beat,
But years in memory,
The sigh that sung and rang aloud,
A stunning symphony,
But when it’s gone, I’ll always be,
Chasing the moment.

A glance that hit, like charging volt,
It shocked the core of me,
And veins and nerves still tingle so,
With electricity,
But when it fades, I’ll always be,
Chasing the moment.

A taste so sweet, forbidden sin,
First kiss you gave to me,
The unknown flavour lingers so,
Invoking memories,
But when that dies, I’ll always be,
Chasing the moment.

One single second, all it took,
To change the life of me,
All time before no longer counts,
Removes all history,
Forever now, I’ll always be,
Chasing the moment.


Dearest readers…
I wasn’t going to add an explanation to this one – but I thought it prudent to say that this is quite autobiographical. It’s to do with my past, and what happened to me to make me the person I am today. Perversely, (in my opinion), I would say a better person. I hope you like it.

Snow will always bring me back
To days when heart was broken,
Words though read upon a screen
Rang out as if were spoken.

Snow will always bring to mind
The pain I felt in winter,
When secret seen by pure mistake
Caused life to stop and splinter.

Snow will always cause a tear
With thoughts of past engendered,
Not thinking that this love of mine
Would easy be surrendered.

Snow will always take me back
To days of cold betrayal,
When actors in this bitter play
Gave such a cruel portrayal.

Snow will always call to mind
The day my future darkened,
Where once a life of love and hope
Replaced by heart so hardened.

Snow will always give a life
To pictures oft’ remembered,
Foundations all about me fell
My wants and dreams dismembered.

Snow will always bring to mind
The day my heart was taken,
Knowing that my trust in love
Would always now be shaken.

Put Away

Well, wherever my muse has been, she’s decided to pay me a fleeting visit this evening, and this is the result. I hope you like it.

I’ll pack away these tears of mine
In box of silk-lined oak,
And when I think of love we had
They’ll speak of heart that broke.

I’ll hide away these dreams of mine
In chest of aged wood,
For only dreams kept safe for me
Will stand where passion stood.

I’ll put away these words of mine
In pages writ with blood,
They could not sway your iron mind
Nor stem the rising flood.

I’ll lock away my secret want
With chain of silver sheen,
And in my darkened thoughts of you
Perchance they’ll set to gleam.

I’ll turn away, dear, from your light
From all I want and need,
Forever now to be bereft
My heart to fade and bleed.

A Day Tinged Blue

This morning, before the sun came up, I was looking out of my window at home and the day had a distinctly blue tint to it. As though someone had turned up the ‘blue’ setting on an RGB (red, green, blue) monitor. It stayed with me all day, and now this has come out of it. Hope you like it.

Looking out to a day tinged blue
With unkind dreams and thoughts of you.
Unrelenting in it’s hold,
Who knew that heaven could get so old.
Will not a man be ever kind
And form a tool to drain a mind?
Then pictures seen when eyes are dark
Would not collect and tease this heart.
In only death will memories fade
And stop their wicked show so made.
But while in death no more to prey
That change may come and life to sway.
Such tortured choice presented so
To keep such dreams or let them go.
If I may die then peace will reign
No more the dreams, no more the pain.
But if I live then in despair
With memories cruel forever there.
Looking out to a day tinged blue
One more day to struggle through.
I’ll keep this life, the dreams that flow
For pain of you defines me so.