Look around

I see sounds swirling

vortex colours

bleeding into my ears,

and mixing with

The symphony of

frequencies,

the rainbow of the air,

and I stare at

the wonder.

The awe.

The magic,

dripping over the canvas.

And I am aware

 

All of this is there for us.

You and me. Everybody.

So, look up, don't be scared to stare,

magic won't just disappear

when our eyes see that it is there,

instead, it paints a view,

a stunning emotion just for you.

The shades of blue, with silver, grey,

An ocean above as below,

so, swim with me.

 

Sometimes there are

shades of red,

blending into

beautiful purple of darker days,

the mountainous clouds, proudly

proclaim their space,

constantly changing,

evolving the image,

making the view distinct,

evoking emotion in you.

 

Then look down,

see the shades of the

green,

the multitude blends

of emerald, lime, pistachio,

olive, khaki, yellow shades

swirl in the pea green sprigs,

as the damp brown moss-tinged blades

feather the soil in story. And that story reads

Of love, a love story just for us

 

Our universe is so beautiful,

through weary night eyes you can see

planets sitting in vibrant dots of light,

bustling with the stars for attention,

like a red-carpet walk

to the next big

cinematic distraction,

and in the spotlight of the moon

the swooning lovers

stand in union. lips upon lips

in cosmic communication,

a communion of colour.

 

and yet everyone

looks down.

So glum.

They look down upon

screens reflecting

their lives

in ever-increasing

shades of grey.

 

Life is so much more vivid

in the natural light. Raise your eyes,

look up at the day, see the birds

sweep the skies, see the butterflies,

colours dazzling against the flowers they visit.

How can we resist it? The pull of eternity

there in front of our eyes.

 

See the harmony of nature as it walks

between the heavy feet of humanity,

trying to get your attention.

Just begging to be seen.

Lift your eyes from the screen.

it's so much clearer in eyesight

rather than a 4K rendition

on a perpetual self-torture device.

 

I see twilight laying down and slipping

below horizon duvet waves, as day

sleeps to regain her hold on the world below.

 

And knight falls, in shining amorè.

I'm in love, I'm sure. The lunar light,

holds me in warming comfort

against the deepening black,

and I lay back, letting sweetness of a star

shift across the canvas like a laser light,

sent to lead us home.

Home. Home.

And I doze.

Scratchy vinyl

 

Shady lanes,

love's first embrace

under

pale moonlight

hearts raced,

and I felt at one.

But was I one

or were we two,

not together in tune,

Just

a mismatched

instrumentation,

a misplayed harmony

on scratchy vinyl,

a recreation of something,

that couldn't be called final.

A tribute act,

the notes played right,

but the passion was

a fire that couldn't

take light.

 

Hotel rooms

and hidden spaces,

anywhere we could taste

the intimate fruits

of love's trees, but the feelings

never sang like

the birds in those leaves.

For the fruit was sour

and nothing could

make it sweet. For love wasn't

just a fruit you eat,

but a life, a story

of shared devotion,

shared views over shared oceans.

 

And in those memories,

messy bedroom scenes,

places dreams went to die.

And I sigh, for my heart

was untouched by your

melody—a piano played off-key,

a misplaced note

ruining the orchestration

of you and me.

 

Cemetery gates.

As love dies away,

going through motions

trying to catch emotions,

but no feelings sing

when it isn't love

but a skin feeling.

 

And my love is a galaxy

where we can fly,

on the waves of

a symphony,

a choir,

not a beat-up

old tambourine,

left in the roadside gutter.

We can soar

Higher

and feel every ringing sound

the universe is granting.

Because love.

Love is blinding.

But oh so enlightening.

Razorblade rain

 

Close your eyes and take the beating.

A rain of schoolyard bruises, but you

know no other way, there is no use.

You accept the feeling, embrace it,

become one with the way blood tastes

on your lips. Abused, misused, confused,

and you lap it all up

- attention -

it is all better than oblivion,

right? Right?

A shout into the void at night.

 

And it cycles in seasons, an inch taller

and you fall harder. But still the kicks

are seasoning your skin, tenderising

your mind, to never lay a hand on another,

but poisoning your river so you struggle

to feel the flow of love, without the sickness

in the stomach grabbing hold. And you

look and see the smiles, the laughs...

Is this my place in life? Maybe this story

was always divined.

 

And whilst the kicks and punches hurt,

they only bruise the surface layers.

Underneath

a world starts to form defences,

a village coming together.

I hear songs of defiance,

laughter and cheers, as they

build fortresses of reformed

sticks and stones, towers of secrets

looking out at the heavens, awaiting

an onslaught to their homes. Fraught,

but unbowed

they pull all of your slumped emotions

into the core, protection zone.

And the pain is lessened,

as you close off and listen

to them sing you to sleep.

A lullaby of peace.

 

The words however,

they have no defences for. Their walls

can't hold them back, they attack from all sides.

Sharpened edges, razorblade rain,

cuts so much deeper into your writhing mass,

slivering pieces of your shivering meat-sack skin,

until you are a withering wreck

in a torn costume of pain.

 

But no one comes. No heroes.

You escape the rain in worlds

of fantasy, in worlds of games,

in the blurry sweeps of time,

in music, songs of pain,

that heal your own.

You escape in the drink, in

pushing yourself to the brink,

in sex, in feeling

something nice upon the skin,

but nothing takes the place.

Until a beat in your chest.

A tribal drumbeat of clicking fingers.

A song without music,

a lyric sheet of all the memories

that still linger somewhere

in the darkness, in the mental

wilderness.

 

And you forgive, never forget.

You let bygones fall into a layby,

and wither like a roadside shrine.

You open your eyes to beauty and

the sun that shines. The moonlight

that guides, the moments of divinity

in perfect harmony with infinity.

And you smile a real smile.

For nothing can ever bruise you again,

this skin suit is both armour and healing,

arms to hold and to be held within.

And the river flows clean, no poison remaining.