discernguise

And that which he wondered Above all other obstacles; the contracts, the pre-nuptial agreement, The money, parents, the suit, the ring. One thing kept his tongue sharp, laced with a poison; vehement. And each day he considered her sin, Judging her foolishness, judging his foolishness Letting himself rush in. The money was no problem now, the ring could wait a while. Contracts- who needs them? Yet still there was a problem, an obstacle. A root to kill the stem. Kill. That's what happened. A year ago that day. Alone. Repeating each day Each way, 'I'm OK' Each day. Every day. Bitterness grew softly, lemon sliced each bud Hope

As she lay there crying Her face twisted to contort Pain flashed in dull blasts She felt no support Her head was numb of crying Her eyes jaded and sore Not knowing what came next Her heart pierced on the floor He thundered through the kitchen Grabbed her by the throat Somehow second nature; Relations so remote Inside her head she screamed Yet her pain would not appear But on one fateful Tuesday She finally showed her fear Not knowing what to do Alone for the first time A feeling that seemed Not so sublime In desperation she found A way out of her regret The bodies laid together, police comment; 'Like Romeo and Juliet'

Sandy soils taunt any hope Of ever really knowing Really showing what is never seen Never found as it flounders Useless as a single vote.                                                                                                              Here Budding-passion of an urbanite left with the only hope                                                                                             The only despair Of someone who can feel, can hurt, can cry, can love, honestly portrayed in a senseless story yet she                                                                                                        is misundersto

You left in a hurry with a two-year warning Achieved your wish; we threw a surprise Party. Where were you? Last time I saw you You wouldn't speak to me I should've told you to remember your scarf (Is it cold where you are?) I meant to ask you What your perfume was. That smell, like white lilies; clung to you By the end, I saw the pain Knew the hurting was too much I knew it would happen I never expected it. We played your favourite song today You didn't sing along You were wearing your smartest clothes You looked odd; you found them uncomfortable Why did I let them dress you like that? (Will you talk to me If there's a hea

Always was that smell of musty water; almost real To the touch that strung out over the guitar chord In elegiac memories, nostalgia of what there was before me. The photographs, now jaded and tired from a decade's daydreams, traumas, deaths and marriages barely yearn now to yarn naive weaved tales that were your dreams. And yet the metamorphosis you made grew wings, flying rainbow outward, symmetrical to love and your dreams changed. Said once you never wanted kids. But I feel safe in the knowledge that when I wake and see you sometimes at the doorway you wear that same rainbow expression as you grew and surged to become better

Loneliness is more like a headache than an emotion; It weighs in on your temples and Unbalances your posture (Bent over backward, trying to accommodate you) It doesn't originate from your heart And is difficult to Control, complex; it cannot be endured But cured by the perpetrator (Or the victim) Often unexpected, it can be claustrophobic And although a crowd surrounds you It's lonely because someone chose not to Join you there, a loyal friend. So inflicted with a migraine of nine years Gone to pot- maybe matured or over-ripe (Rotten) I have to wonder how to lose loneliness, Misplace a foe friend (You can be lonely in future)

I watched you this morning as the package came in smart black packaging; a special delivery marked by some Middle Eastern country. I don't know where. I stopped concentrating. It held only a Silver Star badge; decorative unlike the plain address sheet it held on lined paper. You opened the door and it was glaring green. It was deep green. A deep green hat, perfectly forest coloured. You could tell because the willow in the garden merged perfectly with its woven pattern. It was slightly worn though traditional; maybe in a few years it could be worth something. An antique. They say an artist's work is more valuable when he's dead. You fingered

we lay entwined together your cheek on mine the feeling of your warmth wrapped delicately against me clinging as if the world were collapsing our only constant the delicate fluttering of your heart its echo reverbrating in a steady stecatto rythmn that made my soul race and pulse quicken the delicate curve of your spine every vertebrae traced under fingertips that glided along secret skin toes curled and legs pressed hard against each other as if to melt into one form the soft exhale of air from your lungs that caused the smallest noise to escape from your open mouth the slow inhale that filled your lungs

Over dusty shoulders I see a world I'll never win, and I should be anywhere.. Anywhere but here.. Dirty chalk clouds slur through a city sky until they drop off the stale earth, and this is my story, and I shall follow them, and I shall fall. Harsh and ugly. We lived life like we were the only ones not broken. Your heart was the fist matching my bruises, we were misplaced children, collapsed from our worlds                                                  and collided. We tugged our skin on the trees we climbed, trying to kidnap stars, you tripped me up once or twice and I stared at you while you let your fingers    

Nothing, Not any more. I'm empty inside. There's nothing but ashes, Of what I used to have, That were burnt to nothing When I heard of your passing. Nothing, Not any more. I'm empty inside. You filled my world, You were my everything. And now I'm left with nothing. Nothing but a memory, Of a love I didn't appreciate. Nothing, Not any more. I'm empty inside.

He only seemed to love her at night, when the supple light of the moon filtered in through the curtains, caressing her hair, making her pale skin look like polished marble, a young Madonna sleeping soundly beside him. Her face didn't bear the lines of cruelty then; her worries seemed melted away, the tell tale signs of the years gone indistinct in the light of the moon. Only when asleep could he pretend she still loved him. Only when asleep did she seem to need him. When they had traveled across the desert to California she used to play one Bob Dylan song for him and say, that's me. She would twirl her fingers through her hair, humming the w

There was something about the quick-step pointed-toe heel-out tummy-in hold-that-leg-up look-ahead (not down) that I didn't ever quite                                             grasp. And again, when I decided to give the baggy trousers and the tank top a go; the break-beat down-on-the-floor some-sort-of-spin and a twist followed by a flip-to-the-feet, squeezing the sequence into a sixteen-beat-block without a single slip? Impossible. So I tried the thing with the shoes and the shuffle-shuffle tap-tap, or was it tap-tap shuffle-shuffle? Scuffling across the floor and surrounded by suppressed smirks. Well I wasn't much goo

Rock N' Roll I Love rock N' roll So put another dime in the jukebox, baby I love rock N' roll So come an' take your time an' dance with me                                                                                                                      -Joan Jett Rock & Roll Was slang for sex, But what's sexy about Media conglomerates Turning the creators Into castratos? Copycats and copyrights Are all I see made In the music machine These days. Court cases covered On MTV because Today's 'rock stars' Want more royalties. I want to believe That it was more pure In its roots,   Straight from the soul, But, Elvis