On the wall

Voices from the distance,
an insect chorus mends the air
and I sit here in silence,
loving the world as it slips past.
The sound of my own voice startles me,
and among my collapsing thoughts,
the wind is little comfort,
singing in my ears, bringing the
twinkle of birds in his breath.
Ants crawl among the wall;
this is their land, their life,
they will know nothing else –
I, on the other hand, am a fool,
tomorrow to leave this place a memory,
to rest among the pylons of my past;
there is darkness here, left by me,
I see it in the distance,
shouldering itself against the corn fields,
hidden beneath the branches of pyramid trees,
and I leave a little lighter, my burden less,
but the stones speak their own truth:
they have been here forever,
footsteps on stone, the sound of blood in the air,
and through the beauty, the darkness is always known.

Rules and universal things

I tell myself I have no say,
my mother tells me not to say,
and so silent I am, supposed in time, frozen,
living my life one day at a time,
Waiting for that beautiful moment when you are
there, your figure in the mist,
me in the mist, us surrounded by dew,
but I am told No Wait Now isn’t the time
and I scream – harmonics be damned,
the melody and chords and rhythm
of this song can go to hell, because
the faintest hope that you are there with me
can give me good mornings for a week,
can bring sunshine on my darkest days,
but I am told The Time Is Not Right.
I write these verses in rebellion, in anger,
frustrated by the manacles on my lips,
pissed by the fragility of my heart, but also
bloody incensed at the unfairness of it all.
– I am shot, my little heart broken,
and I cry myself to some kind of sleep
because, because, but the laws – I feel dulled.