Four Posts

Sat among flowers and trees
With two cares, no fears
And a whistling breeze
Sharp to the ears and soft on the soul
Whatever that is

Identity is a state of mind
And it’s all psychology in the end
Disconnect and drop off, drip-fed
Emotion, like little blue pills
Ground up into your dinner
With all the kibbles and bits
To keep you calm

We all have memories
But we’d better keep them that way
And not let them loose on our hopes
Dreams and other creations
Our notions we hold dear, hold tight
As we hold our dearest in the dimmest of light

We turn to the line of ghosts
Who linger too long by
Bedroom four posts
Groaning and moaning
Some more than the rest

Wearing yesterdays clothes
Shuffling and scuffling over
Polished oak floor, digging ethereal
Heels into the rug

They all have stories to tell
Of another mans life
Long ago and barely remembered
Through the haze of cigarette smoke
And half bottles of gin

Make a man into a monster
And set him loose on the beast
To be rid of the pain of being a cliche
So strangle the ghosts and ghouls
And repeat finer written words
Or more succinctly selected phrases

Be all, end all and go strangle a
Swan for the third and last time
One care voiced and the other
Drops like porcelain, shattering into shards
Sharper than glass, duller in hue

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Oscillate

Love of a broken heart
Cut on it’s edges
A finger round a glass
Resonating, oscillations of the light
Through sheer weight of emotion
The glass breaks, a rose sits
Atop the wing of a raven
Crucified on the mirror

Like the pain of hope we cry
The lord of love shall die
There’s nothing but raw emotion
Lacerated flesh, shot through with the thread
Of our loved dead

I’m not your messiah
Though I bleed just the same
Ripped out, engaged, humiliated
Edge of a spade, this is realising
We are now, muscles like string
A sinew ripping audibly
This is over, no legacy

Love of a broken heart
Cut on it’s edges