How does it end?
The flourish of the sun.
In a volley of the scuttling plague
3 billion years.
I am old, cold and worn
Bearing no progeny,
But the flares of what is torn.
In a final burst,
The stretch and convulsion of skin.
I leave it for you to guess.
What lies herein.
Discovery used to be interesting.
Now it is mere platitudes.
It is long chemicals in leaves,
Or the dangers of common food.
Discovery used to be mountains,
And continents and zones.
It was once elements and reactions
And forces yet unknown.
I rediscovered myself today,
But it was not at all exciting.
Discovery was once so grand,
I wish to be struck by lightning.
Her Elysian eyes,
Abundant in splendour.
Her beauty makes the Gods cry.
My dear, Gentle and Tender
Months matter no more.
Time is so young,
And it graces the mirthful floors.
Although time is a neglected child,
And although my actions appear so wild
She is the Great Motivator.
No excuse is needed; no masterful guise or plot.
With her I am.
Without her,
I am not…
Never been held back.
I wish I was.
I wish there was an inner ethical tyrant.
I have no will.
My conscience sits back and nods complacently.
Cigarette in mouth. Casual, criminal.
Disregarding my behaviour. Thanks.
Who guards the guards? No one. I don’t mind.
Freedom hugs me and sneers.
A tap on the back, I turn around and cringe.
Eventually the reaction is minimal.
This Will is too liberal.
It suits me too well.
A bit of contrast never stings.
And healthy punishment won’t sing,
Of debauchery and revelry,
Or rioting and devilry.
Too close to the bridge
Shrill singing. Sirens screeching.
You played me, much too close.
To the bridge.
This heavy red.
Growing inside my chest.
Struggling to cope.
Despondence. Hope.
Don’t give me your aria.
I don’t need that now.
I’m sick of concertos.
They are the weeping barrier.
So when you scratch the grain,
Or pluck the strings,
And when all this love brings,
Is a hole in the sky.
I won’t ask why.
