Time threaded pinks and greys
the carillon surmised
Eras weaved fabric
thrashing and whipping on the washing line
Hours Cloaked as raptors
turning the seasons in their wings
An eloquent ballet
Collecting the frayed ends of generations
Since called into apparitions.
Uncategorized
A peculiar comedy
There is a peculiar comedy to rubbish
Drawing from us capital
A rat race to refusal
Of extinction
We are all here, criminal
Making trenches to hide the nuance
That folds us into animal
We are all here, origami children
Hemmed in at the edges
Becoming nuisance
All bring crushing impact
With a grudge to hammer home with.
Needing no rehearsal to contradict
As we lay inside this labyrinth, the matrix
Bourne by identities.
In short, we are addicts
Living at the tip.
Bogus pedestrian
In another dimension I was a bogus pedestrian
Lacking flesh
A mere idea at the whims of flow
From creative rivers seeking verdict, a memorandum
Anything to glean what it quenched to know
Maps of hate
The underworld Twists and trawls
Tearing at the strands that thread our masks
A beast Writhing in the crowds amassed
Hatred prowls the tips of Tongues
And the grey man with a yellow grin
Gathers the squall
We bear witness, this shift of fate
Criscrossing new maps to the temple of infernos gate.
Sunday wordle: education, education, education in British school
The monotonous yellow hum of the lights held us sideways
Our bags all a rustle on our backs
Contorting us into hunchbacked old children
Our grandfather’s legacy in our faces
Ever mercurial, our expressions of piety
To the altar of education, education, education
As we tried to find the shadows of what we learnt
Within that yawning void of hums
Trains of thought sacrificed along with the gleams in our eyes
As we breathed ourselves closed
Speeding headlong till it burnt behind our eyes
Mercy was a talisman we tried to wear with pride
Like armbands
As we gazed upon the rumours of our futures, swimming the tide
And the scars of the place held us in contempt
Before any crime
A lonely place
I am a fiction, a mythical beast
I am all the word games we play
The white noise of the poltergeist
smeared against the teeth
of those who’ve taken from the feast
It’s a lonely place to be sliced and diced
by the mastication of someone else’s inner grin.
It’s like I said…
The dead eat the living
and come alive again
so wilt away
and fall as petals do
The abyss is only as deep as you dig
It’s like I said
The world will eat us and all our friends.
Sunday Wordle 4th May: Hobsons choice
In anothers eyes
Another’s eyes can consume you
Always, forever
your face emboldened behind them
and they can draw traces around you
drawing you into caricatures
telling themselves that’s what you really were
