Fields of pain

 

Rice paper skin

worn wafer thin.

Losing

the will to keep losing.

Any chance of a win?

Struggling to keep smiling,

with thought of gravity

pulling down on me.

My lips feel anchored

to the earth's molten core,

or to some deep buried exotic ore

and I'm scrambling through the dirt

just trying to unhook it.

Fuck it. I'm flatlining.

Vitals signs declining.

I feel like I've used up

all of my clouded silver linings.

 

Is kindness such a rarity

that you have to beg to feel it?

Love such a lost notion

that you may as well forget it?

It's gone. Travelled those vast oceans.

Now just hurt remains,

here where it sits going through the motions.

 

I remember when

this wasn’t all fields of pain

where hurt has built a home,

to shelter from the rain.

When anger didn’t lay at the door

along with blame.

Shame was a feeling

that just didn't sit.

Didn't come for tea

or pay a visit.

Back then

kindness still

held out a hand at times.

The winds didn't only blow ill,

they sometimes blew through

just to hear the chimes.

They sometimes brought change as well

and change is about cracking that shell,

fixing the parts that were carved in hell.

 

But now it seems

that hurt is here to stay,

It's taken your bed,

ate your porridge and now

upon your seat it makes its play.

Love has long since

walked into the night,

realising that it only

ever leads to more days,

and in this instance

where kindness has bolted,

left the floor coated in hay,

it seems that I'll just try

to sleep the day away.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading

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Kyle

 

Sleep no more

 

Sleep no more

for unto your dreams

the unruly demons

have poured.

The force of army's

from lands of fire.

The denizens of death

won't ever retire.

They are firing

their weapons

with passionate glee.

They keep sounding

loud pounding

noises at me.

Blaring alarms

when the dreams

start to calm,

to bring forth the terror,

the wild ferocious storm.

 

Every person

asleep in their beds

is in their grips,

their clawed evil mitts.

The scraping sounds

they emit.

Shredding, grinding deep

into your heads.

The sound of death

to the already dead.

An unholy riot,

a disquiet so perverse

and disturbing

that your thoughts

can no longer converse.

 

Where, oh where

is the watchman?

Where is

the night's saviour?

The knight

of the moons

round table,

the one that will answer

our sleep deprived prayer.

Where is the watchman?

Doesn't he care?

 

He is in the throes

of a dream of his own

A vision so vicious

that his mind is delirious,

Will he survive? This is unknown.

If he survives, his mind

will be twitching

and itching for death,

wanting to put his guitar

to his head,

and ring out

the loudest chord

he can strum.

To stop the sound

of the marching feet

as they come.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading

Please follow the link for my books, 

 

videos and social media.

 

https://linktr.ee/Wordsandfluff 

 

Every click, every book purchase, 

 

every like helps me to keep doing what I love.

 

Peace, Love & Poetry 

 

Kyle

 

Kyle Coare - Midnight Tales 1 : Arty's Tale taster

Thief of hearts

 

You broke in

during my hours of sleep

and crept through

the emotion storeroom.

Eying nic-nacs, relics,

not giving them a second glance.

You had only one chance

to gain the prize you sought.

Through the gloom

you saw what you had in mind.

The thing you hoped to find,

that feint red-tinged light

from a cage across the vast room.

 

Through the defences you dived,

below laser beam alarm devices,

armed and primed, ready to ring.

You avoided all of them.

Through the room

with spring lined walls,

a row of consoles with questions

only a true lover could fathom.

You got nearer the prize.

 

Then a question you couldn't

possibly answer.

Or so I thought.

Who is the love of my life?

You pictured my eyes,

as photographs flowed across my view,

deep in the slipstream dreams,

names flickered in neon,

then faded, vapour

into the ether.

You saw a glimmer

when one name was called.

Just a spark, a feint shimmer

in the fabric of time.

But it was enough

you answered correctly.

The thing you'd sought,

the prize

was yours.

 

Now within your grasp

you held my heart.

Eager to store

it in pride of place,

with the other hearts

you had encased.

For it shone

the brightest

when that name

was whispered in the darkness,

or when an image of her

fluttered swiftly

across my eyes.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading

Please follow the link for my books, 

 

videos and social media.

 

https://linktr.ee/Wordsandfluff 

 

Every click, every book purchase, 

 

every like helps me to keep doing what I love.

 

Peace, Love & Poetry 

 

Kyle