how this time
this, impossible feeling of
distance
I feel such a longing for
longevity
yet at the same time
I feel its breath
begin to cremate
and I feel, also
her kisses
kissing me to feel
the distance
for it is such a distance
where the language of sorrow
echoes along the path
from the fires
those joyful fires,
breathing
breathing
their pleasured pain
Magic arrives when it’s needed.
This message is ready for the few
for those souls
bereft of the beauty
we sometimes take for granted.
The beauty, of course, is not physical
but those things we feel
and emit
without and within
it is that echo
breathing, touching, vibrating
it is that echo.
Sometimes a sadness overshadows
a loneliness begins
a feeling of loss is found
and all we want is to escape
into ourselves
to close the curtains of our minds
and escape into the sorrows
of emptiness
where there is no light
no fire
no
but, where there is emptiness
there is of course, an echo.
It breathes with you and for you
for you are
that breathing echo
you are open to receive
those long searched for
alchemies of love.
Magic arrives when it’s needed
as love
because love
is already within us
within you now
breathing its echo.
Inhale, smile
and believe
in your beauty.
~
Listen to, breathe in and taste the pungent
where once music sang amongst the trees
where once the air invigorated
where once eating was real
and where each was once one’s own mind
but now
in this time of greed, futile deaths, global one-upmanships & scaremongerings
and the religious balloonings of creation
we are surrounded
by an artificial atmosphere of civilization
where trees are shrouded in tentacles of grease and darkness; their songs all but forgotten
where our lungs are attacked on a daily basis; antibodies scream in disgust
where chemical wrapped food tastes of food wrapped chemicals; painful temptation encroaches
and where what we think, what we are and what we believe is no longer ours …
in this artificial atmosphere of civilization, where only the perfect make the shelf
; sorrow begets perfection begets sorrow
~
~
~
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 …
A Gap In The Clouds 