Fallen

When inglorious Spring with his heated vanes
Wafted through the sere weblike display
Of wartorn frames, shadowy downs and manes
of broken promises gone astray...
Then on Resurrection the gods did not rise
Entombed, enwombed, in a suffocating paradise
Histories and philosophies failed to apprise
Truth, shortchanged, would lies devise.
In the distance the bell tolls a death knell
And dervishes set up a mad, frenzied dance
Tears, fears, tenuously held at bay -
When the idol from its pedestal fell
Leaving but chance and circumstance
And its broken feet of clay.

Interminably terminal

Jaw grinding, tooth chilling pain
repeated too often for
murderers, saints, psychos and sycophants,
hollow corridors echoing the webs of
disarmed footsteps
faltering perhaps on thresholds
of promises as yet unbroken

while pride plays golf with hope renewed
and sunlight ricochets off
unbroken columns
resounding empty hallways
interminably terminal, and ticking
for eons and eternities

that lie wasted, drying,
in the piercing heat
of a northern spring.

The Debris of Faith

Tickers scroll past in red-alerted "breakings", smashing screens,
trashing, gutting, gushing blood and spilled debris
when faith... what faith, whose faith?
is a faithless sometime thing --

while the world, numbed, desensitized, no longer horrified
by the blood and the gore and the guts --
watches, shakes an apathetic head, too used to,
now, to such sights, such scenes

while a screaming journalist agonizes for help, clicking
in desperation, the horror, the fear, the helplessness
of a blown-to-bits spot while people, innocent, mostly,
stare fixedly, still wondering for moments and hours

how to wade through
the debris of faith.

The next drop

Drip. Drip. Drip.
Silence.
DripDrip.
Silence.
DripDripDrip.
Drip... Drip... Drip...
Silence.
Silence.
Silence.

Drrrip.
Sometimes insanity creeps up
as you wait for
The next drop.

Trust is a choice

Trust is a conscious choice you make
When you open up your heart
Like a flower to dew or a butterfly's foot
As either could tear it apart
with just a callous, careless, thoughtless act
For no cosmic law seems to govern -
If a fool is what that makes you
A fool you should be in turn.
For trust cannot be a sometime thing
Dependent on proofs of truth
It leads you out to the furthest limb
Just like the folly of youth
But trust makes your armour strong,
Makes gluttonous lies, uncouth.

When you rain

When you rain love words on me
Like gentle shafts of moonlight
I smile like the parched earth
as the sky pours down in delight.
Your firm-pettled lips shape the poetry
of your love when deep into the night
or in the richness of a golden dawn
with your passion you set the dark alight.
Throughout the night your arms hold on
even through nights when we are apart.
With tenderness and passion you turn,
turn our love into a fine art.
How I love this niche, this nook you've made
for me, in the vastness of your heart.

I see you now

Somewhere I read about this
In a mystery-wrapped tome
That the one you think of last at night
Holds your heart alone.
And in the morning's glow you see him
Before you open your eyes -
He suffuses your soul with warmth
no matter where in the world he lies.
I see you now in the sunlight,
Walking along a misty path...
Your musky scent on my wanton skin
And your smile that lifts my heart.
But whose scent do your memories breathe
Each night before you lay your head to sleep?

I remember a future

In the warp and weft of time
In a labyrinth of pure-hearted sunshine
In a garden filled with the sublime
anti-thesis of decline

I remember a future
in which age and the aged mature
to uncanny depths of childhood
reinvent with a passionate creative urge

that which eluded before.
For I remember a future
filled with a past untouched
by the voracious appetite of Time.

Would that we could uninvent
At least some of the past misspent.

Insidiously it creeps

Walking barefoot across cool stony paths
Slowly gaining inch by inch
On the warmth of hope and joy amassed
through the toil and treasuring of time

shared with passion and love unbounded...
But insidiously does it creep
Over terrain it hopes to overrun
With suspicion and fear: and crosses

the threshold of the threat factor
when helplessly love looks the other way
and reason has gone on vacation
Leaving vacant that vast and empty space.

Insecurity is a vile and vicious thing
When its tentacles on love it does fling.

Sometimes, one

Sometimes, you said, I don't know 
Where I end and where you begin...

So you feel that too, I thought, 
But gut-wrenchingly
Scared to admit, 
acknowledge,
Give in.
For I have been a runner all my life
And to admit it would mean
No more running...

Then you woke me up in the wee hours 
to prove how your longing would bring you back 
From the dead... for me...
For you turned into a poet
And I the curious journalist
When you wrote your poetry on my skin
And I investigated you thoroughly!

So we lit a fire that spun in
a whirlwind
and I gave to you and took you
Till there was nothing left of me
And there was nothing left of you
Except one conflagration and 
an all-consuming flame
That blanketed us
Just before we were reborn.

Sometimes, I said, I don't know where
I end
And where you begin.

Sound of Longing

A moment of deep longing
echoes through the caverns
of my heart, my gut,
rips and ripples in outward
concentrics
to the edges of the universe;
in hot-warm waves
shaking trees and stars alike
with its intense resonance;
shimmering the mirages
on the road, in the sky,
till all space and time is consumed...
enveloped by one primal sound -
The sound of longing...