Memento of another space

 

Still silence. A crash,

the moment of impact, a fragile vessel.

Shockwaves carve apart the sky,

before the blast rang out. A fallen star.

A new start. A story born of fire and ash.

Cast to a new home, in a ship of glass.

 

A smash,

as mementos of another

time and space

became tender fragments

of rain on a winter day.

Fire and brimstone to soft skin.

A child alone. Unsure.

Unsteady. A newborn deer

in an earthquake zone.

Stares at the moon.

Uncertainty in how to move.

How to fit into this skin suit.

No instruction manual on being a human.

 

A cry to the skies, primal roar rides high,

for home lies on distant solar tides.

 

The cycle of seasons saunters by,

the moon visits then leaves every sky.

The child cries at every loss,

never grasping that each loss

is temporary, and the wailing

won't stem the rain.

Those monumental stories

lodged in his brain,

a world away from perfect.

No map to this pain.

 

So alone. So alone. So alone.

 

Endless summers into wild winters,

ferocious thoughts from vicious voices.

He simpers. Wilting, a flower in the chill wind.

So far from perfect, he thinks.

 

He thinks he thinks he...

 

And into wavy dreams he swims,

for a brief glimpse at where from whence

his memories seep in - a place

so distant, far beyond the stars,

with crystal skies and flying cars.

 

Back to reality, as a screeching

voice yells at him. These people seem

so certain in their skin, yet don't

see the magic within.

Yet I fall and I bruise, I scream

at the abuse, but hold back oceans

for them.

But the world just screams louder...

Deafening.

 

It's no use. I'm not like you.

 

And avalanching time crashes

mountains into ice castles. Crushes hope

into glass, fragile and weakened

by the thin skin of time.

Life a series of battles, bottled up

and stored in a cupboard.

Drinks them down in cascading sighs

like the tears that fall from his eyes.

Wondering why?

Where was his peaceful sky?

 

Visions of alien expanse, rose-red

fields lit by twin stars, vapour trail

comets dance between them.

But now he just scrawls sonnets

in a notepad always kept in his pocket.

 

Trying to understand humanity,

a line at a time, the beautiful and

ugly combined, to no longer be confined

to his prison mind, or feel the need

for a space rocket, to escape this

angry rock and its vicious wildlife.

The beginning of goodbye

 

The beginning of goodbye

 

idling hours,

wave beside rambling

riverside sunlight.

Burnt orange coating

the blackberries

in gold leaf dreams,

and the brambles

fading into

amber-tinged

memories.

 

And I look to you,

and you look back,

idling smiles, with just the

beginning of goodbye

dawning across our lips.

arms grip onto

reality as it spins.

Helicopter seeds,

sowing stories

into tomorrow.

 

And I hold back a word

that I softly wish to speak,

 

"Stay,"

 

I let it fall into my bubbling

stomach acid,

for the daylight is fading,

and tomorrow can bring

shared horizons, and blurted

hearts only

blunt lover's sighs,

when sunlight

comes and goes,

in cycles of eternal warmth.

 

For in this moment

we hold on tightly to a dream

and pull it close, and breathe it in.

we take each other's hands,

looking deeply within,

into eyes we dive, like the swan

into those waters below,

 

For this is only the beginning

of goodbye

 

for one night,

 

and hello to the rest of our lives,

tomorrow,

 

when the song of dawn calls

and leaves her soft kiss

on your cheek where hearts begin

to soften into the comfort of

an autumn breeze.

For our stories don't need to be

 

rushed.

 

Just take our days as they come,

and the future will be bright.

For the beginning of goodbye

will welcome tomorrow's "Hi",

like the morning sun.

For love breathes as deeply

as an open river into the sea.

Drip feed of life

 

Innocence waves at the bus rolling by.

Smiles in her eyes, as the yapping dog

of time plays at her feet

And on the corner the brick house laughs at me.

The menacing stare of glaring windows

and toothy door. The trees hide more

ghosts than the cemetery, and overgrown

allotments are always seeded

to grow new stories.

 

And in the back seat of a passing car

loneliness sits, a faint trail of where

her tears wept, before the sleeve erases

almost all evidence. And she puts on a smile,

a false grin, painted with years of self-loathing.

Mimicking a memory, seeing how it fits.

Hating the way it itches, grating. A new

costume for another day. To store

in the wardrobe of so many costume changes.

The Uber driver just talks about his day.

Oblivious to the battle raging within her head.

 

In the bar by the way, laughter and chatter,

as outside alone, sadness sits, pint in his grip,

silent. Wishing. Dreaming of a different

drip-feed of life, sips at the thought.

A different pathway in a different time.

Where his love would have sat beside,

if he had shared his heart when he

had the time. Fingers tighten around glass.

But time can be an abusive partner,

making you believe you have

longer than you ever do,

and you miss all the kisses

that could have come to you,

and memories keep floating past.

 

To the left a field of dreams

to the right

rat-run nightmares.

Victorian brick stained

with modern decorum.

Vape shop, takeaway, pharmacy.

Sainsbury's, the same humdrum,

rundown places of boredom.

The same old sights every day,

The driver sighs.

Whilst on the back seat of the bus

the poet writes,

head in the clouds,

soundtrack pounds

and his heart joins the rush.

For life is so precious,

every strain of every dream,

gifts delivered to his notebook.