*To be revised*
I write about the hermit man
He often takes me by the hand.
Lost to gravity a fan falls
The same one I use to navigate the wind.
Pushed me forwards never touching my body.
Motivated a will to resurrect forgotten seeds of hope
Planted for days when there are more downs than ups.
This son of a mother pulled out the brazen sun – shed the waning Luna
Roused the Apollo within
stumbled about -gaze upwards until
in sight caught winged creatures
Caught a glimpse of the emotion of flying free.
The knowledge found in a bare, withered tree
Stem cell life.
Presumed the creature lived in my shadow
Turns out it had a growth spurt in
An external effort to shirk off the title of the saviour’s chosen one.
He who wears the hallow
Crucified by the unsynchronised dubbed over mouths
Pitched sounds out a smoke effect bellow.
Can I get a score?
Few get to see his fallen wings
Unless preparation sees an alternative
look to familiar skin.
That ole devil called love
Billie holiday thanks for the speckled dove.
Highs & lows
hi’s and by’es
at what remains
A pint of Bitter froth decomposed lost in the train of thoughts.
How the sun shine when it comes out.
blossom in spite of mood.
Aren’t vapid merely short-sighted when grey-bearded clouds appear
stubbled by the 5 o clock shadow
Stunted by growth paradigm
tuned into that dark cosmos we know is responsible for feeling so dim.
A connection to a reflection of original purity to contrast moments we believe we don’t deserve to move forward.
Clandestine cloaks conceal our original sin.
This ongoing duet I sing with a feminine hymn
scintillates my belly until I feel the fire lit again from within.
Just a few words