Vampyre tea

A rich cup of tea
sits beside me
the teabag turning the water red
almost as if it can feel the pain in my arm
where the vampyre puntcured me like an old tyre
spawned bruises
memories
history
time

honey makes a difference
it sweetens the ache
allows me to dream

 

this, December thing

~

As cobwebs grow while we sleep
so does this thing
this, December thing …

How it throttles, suffocates and destroys
how it becomes a pestilence within the silent beats of winter
this, December thing …

The emptiness of broken promises
echoes from the sorrows of children to the sorrows of
this, December thing …

How it settles within bones, upon skin and like a question of blood
how it envelops with its pretence of realism
this, December thing …

Each movement choreographed to make belief believable
while deep in the bowels of truth it festers
this, December thing …

How it seduces, enchants and dazzles
how its cosy fireside warmth births solicitous souls
this, December thing …

Like the chill of death’s cowl
it touches memories with sparks of things long gone, long lost
this, December thing …

How it breathes with such passion, beauty and an evanescence of time
how it reaches in to kiss with the sublime heaviness of falling feathers
this, December thing …

~

How I wish … but this … this December thing, cuts my soul to pieces …