A slow kiss to the whispering breeze

 

I love you,

there I said it,

and now

the air is blessed

with this knowledge.

It fell from my lips,

in a slow kiss

to the whispering breeze.

The thought that keeps

bringing me to my knees.

The thought that makes me sing

when I feel ill at ease,

the thought that rings

like a bell of truth.

It’s you.

 

It has always been you.

The one who walks through

the dreams I view.

Even before the moment

I met you.

And now you are stood here

in front of me,

and I’m unable to speak.

Unable to share,

for that muscle in my mouth

is tied up in bows

and my voice is whimpering,

fearful and scared,

for if you know

then maybe you will go.

 

The wounded heart just sits tight,

for the timing never seems right,

but I can write, and

when the words grow out

in pretty rainbow flowers,

it’s you that inspires hope,

it’s you that lights my sky.

The brightest star on a dreamy night.

The light that fires up my heart.

The light that cuts through the dark.

 

I love you,

and although it may sound mad,

but I’ve known you

for longer than I have.

As in dreams

I saw you dancing,

and in moments of sleep

you saw me glancing,

that look in my eyes,

longing drawn

in crayon scrawls,

you smiled

and asked me to join in

and my heartbeat stalls

but my feet want to move.

 

More than anything

I’m just glad that I know you,

for love flows from you,

and even if that love

doesn’t pour for me,

it sure helps me grow into

someone new.

The death of silence

 

I can hear it,

in the static from the tv,

in the echoes of the breeze,

in the rustle of the trees,

in footsteps

darting across

the attic above me.

Little snippets of sound,

like catching a glance

at something in the shadows

with the corner of your eye.

Little sighs, baby cries,

nursery rhymes,

squelching in the mind.

Sounds that grind.

 

There it is again,

in the background

of the song playing,

in the car turning its engine,

in the rush of the rain.

It’s like aural pain,

you can feel it twisting

through your nerves,

infiltrating your brain.

It’s in the intonation of spoken word,

hidden under every verb,

scattered like gunshots

through sentences heard

 

It’s right here,

I can feel it,

every reverberation,

every vibration, every twitch,

every shift in modulation.

It gets under the skin.

I can feel it when

the hairs ping up in fear,

in every breath, in every cough,

in every sneer,

in laughs as it bares its teeth.

That sound, that tenor,

the notes, the tones of terror,

it can never be severed.

The sound is everywhere.

 

It just won’t stop.

My mind awash with soundwaves,

piercing screeches

with no echoes that come,

voices chattering in unison.

It’s everywhere at once,

in the planes hanging overhead,

in the creak as I lay in bed,

in the taps dripping a drumbeat of dread,

in the rustle of my thoughts

that have come undone.

It screams with a sound

that leaves me numb.

It’s back again.

It’s in my head,

it won’t leave. I think it wants us dead.

That sound. That sound. That sound.

That hum.

Piano of time

 

Finger pushes the key,

a sound pulses free.

A crack in the universe,

then another is pressed.

A chime rings out,

higher pitched,

as another part

of the universe splits, falls,

landing with a splat

on the carpet at

the bottom of the universe.

Then the first finger

presses down one more time

to chime in aural ecstasy,

harmonising the symphony,

as the glass particles

of the universe resonate

and shatter.

The final press on

the grand piano

of our universe of time,

disturbs the very matter

of this galaxy.

Bringing the ceiling

crashing down.

Euphoric release

as the sound escapes

beyond the shattered

glass dome

and is greeted by an

orchestra halfway down

the road at the end of time,

where the song starts to chime,

as the poet sits and

slowly lets his rhymes connect

with the frequency flowing all around.