Toxic

So, I finally wrote a new piece that I don't hate and that I managed to finish. This is nothing short of a miracle, so be gentle.

It is about something specific this time, but once again the reader's perception matters more than the writer's. The words should really speak for themselves.

Toxic

The sordid air clings to everything; all-pervading

Swirling, curling, twirling crushed diamond blocks

Streams of red satin and conscience

Laughter and burning eyes

 

We are the life and soul

And the ghost in the corner smiles benevolently

She knows that soon we will touch the sun

And as wings are flicked into a pile of ash,

We fly on

 

With terms of endearment and echoes of youth

One dormant heart now erupts

Tides are turning, and we are suddenly scented

Tainted

 

Eject an apology from a rear window,

And leave for the lamplight-sunrise, far away

Wander across the endless dust to a destination revisited

And finally find, prostrate upon wilting petals,

We linger on

And I Never Understood Really...

No pictures today; I want these words to be concentrated on.

The piece of poetry I am about to present to you is one of my favourite things that I've written. I wrote it a few months ago, I guess, and in a really odd way. I simply put pen to paper and wrote exactly what came out of my mind. This is why I have absolutely no bollocking clue what it's about. But that's good, 'cause it means you can decide for yourselves.

And I never understood really

what time and elegance would bring,

and with it, the soft surrender of darkness

 

My eyes are not yet accustomed to the dim light around them

and so shapes move in colours that don’t try,

and the cool, cut-glass sun streams music onto unsuspecting faces,

upturned and glorious

 

To strive for that day, when man is free –

and woman alike – will come to naught

without the silent tick-tock of the wandering clock,

that sleeps so swiftly

when the neon brights and shining lights are gone

 

The bubbles in the rose-water burst like thoughts and dreams,

and so much else that is fragile and so easily lost,

while machines turn the tide of man

and the warmth of hearts

 

Breathe, for now is when you smile and wonder why

 

The revolutions of every wheel that slaps the backs of innocents

cannot compare to the revolution brewing in the hearts

and minds

and teacups of so many

 

May we one day explode our ugliness,

may we one day throw caution to the wind,

and play with the flames we create

 

May one day the soft beating of the drums warm our souls,

that we make take flight and scratch the stars

 

In their difficult way they gaze their star-gaze, until

with a flick and a kick they spiral away to dance with the gods