Marionette

Tugged by heartstrings
twirled around her slender fingers.

His heart is made to dance
to her siren song.

Drawn by her promise
of regard and warm affection
ensnared by the cool touch
of bewitching fingers

He remains,
bound by a connection
that bids him to motion;
the dance of the marionette.

A twisted puppet of devotion,
a tool to boost her shallow ego.
A servant starved of need;
tossed scraps of sweet emotion

A subtle smile and stolen glance
keep him spiralling in the dance,
and at her whim his strings are cut
He lies forgotten; trampled underfoot

Biting The Bullet

Sitting with the gun,
Staring at its dead black eye,
a cycloptic reaper.
The end of all things,
Just a finger stroke away.
Yet still I linger.

Do I greet the end?
Welcome the darkness gladly?
Stop the sorrow now?
Perhaps I should wait,
Pray for better tomorrow,
A much brighter day.

Can future hope be,
Enough to stay my finger?
A hollow promise.
A decision made,
Barrel against my temple,
I bite the bullet.

The girl and the lake

She reflects upon the surface
As the cold wet arms of the lake
Take her in their deadly embrace.
She feels the cold tendrils curl
Around her calves, her thighs, her waist.

The water pales her skin,
It darkens her lips
It shadows her pale serene eyes,
ecstatic in its aqueous grip.

The darkness envelops her,
the currents caress her
as the lake takes her under;
binds her in a fatal matrimony.

A cold, pale and bloated wife,
torn from her former life.
The lake is a jealous lover,
needy and clasping and hungry.
It pulls and it tugs; an insistent caress.

The flow of the undertow
balloons her white dress
as the life finally flows from her eyes
and bubbles rise from her throat
carrying the last of her sighs.
The lake is a jealous lover.

Facets

One is a carer,
a mender of hearts.
A rock to cling to;
Wise and generous.

One is a loner,
forever outside.
Fey and aloof,
He stands apart.

This One is a joker,
sarcastic and wry,
witty and glib.
He gives away smiles.

Another is darkness;
an empty glass.
He broods over shadows,
cloaked in shame.

There is one that was love,
so much to give,
but going to waste.
Crippled, broken,
He stands alone.

Parts of a whole,
drawn together
to fill a hole
that used to be me.

Afflicted

Life is an affliction
from which we never recover.
Enter the world screaming
And never stop.

Life seems fit to torment;
a torrent of dark abuses
gilded with a veneer
of calm civility

Smiling assassins;
sheep forced into wolves clothing.
We lash out at each other
to ease our own suffering.

Our oppressive pirouette
is deaths only distraction.
In the end, it equals us all.
from plus to minus:
an inevitable subtraction.

Home

Cold winds blow over a desolate landscape
howling through the hollow places.
Solitary footprints disturb the dust.

Frigid, forsaken and blasted world,
where silence is so loud
screaming its pain into the biting gust.

Jagged, jutting bones of failed relationships
the expectant pause of words unsaid
a symphony of regret; a chorus of misplaced trust.

Cityscapes of misspent chances mingle
with the spider web of broken roads.
A bitter and empty honeycomb.

Windows bulge with age and neglect
tattered curtains billow and grasp
for a comfort they have never known

No warmth; no healing touch.
No arms to hide in; to chase away the dark.
A raw and vacuous home.

Tempest

Explosions of insight
Light up the sky
As I lie here in the rain
And wait to die

A poignant moment
Frozen in time in my mind
The start of all this;
The end of all that.

A flash of lightning
Makes my pupils blow
And my tortured, beaten body
Lies broken on the floor.

I fought as best I could,
I played my part;
But I was overcome
And the thunder broke my heart

Lost for Words

Words escape me,
I am mute, struck dumb
by the darkness in my mind.

Overcome
by the hatred I reserve
purely for myself.

Incapacitated
by the loathing
pressing on my last nerve.

Freedom
is the light in a tunnel.
I see only black; an empty oeuvre.

Nothing
is good enough,
no words to share my pain.

Words escape me.
Alone, again.

The Art of War

It starts,
As these things always do,
With the smallest of things.
A remark from me,
A comment back from you.

Suddenly the game commences
The battle lines are drawn.
We bolster our defences
Man the cannons, ready the guns.

The gloves are off.
The claws are out.
With swords unsheathed,
We join in war

Love is forgotten,
As vitriol grows.
Only the winning matters,
Your rules, my rules,
No rules,
When we come to blows.

Because right now,
You are ice,
I am fire,
Circling each other

Words fly like arrows,
Blotting out the sun.
The air is filled
With screams of rage,
it’s too late now
To turn the page.

Anger burns respect away,
Calculated barbs hide our guilt,
change the state of play.

And suddenly,
It’s over.
I deal the mortal blow.
Silence,
Descends on our battlefield.
Tears flow like blood.