A Lune

Ink seeps into cracks
White throated
A domestic rogue

Confuse Ray

Awhizzing blur of colour and lights
Blinking incessantly, unnecessarily bright
A daunting weight, crushing and queer
Inexorably hangs over here

Bereft of any form physical
It nonetheless looms, invisible
It whispers nothing, but yet I hear
A warning before an end comes near

Shadows populate the room
Made solid by a light in the gloom
As I think and await the sun
And ponder on what I have not done

With this thought I am frozen, chilled
Is it possible to leave unfulfilled?
But fool that I am, this thought I keep
It's 2AM, and I really must sleep

Timed memories

Memories are but time
And time is but sand
A soft scoop would guarantee
A handful of sand
A fistful
Would end up in no more than air.

Memories should be let go
As freely as
A crystalised cacoon
Bids farewell
To the fluttering wings
Of freedom

Lost memories
are lost time
Of an age
No longer missed
For the sheer fact
It does not exist

Facades of your past self
Vapourise in the desert of time
Identities based
on historical selves
No longer feasible
Staying lost in time

"Who am I?", you question.
A refreshing memory
A changed identity at every stop
An aimless wanderer in the
Storm of time.

Memories of a thousand years

A stolen whisper
A silent cry
A bitter aftertaste
Logged dutifully and
Materialised into an exquisite anthology
Of the many acts
Throughout your life.

This sacred book
Filled with transactions and plays
Will but be crumpled and battered
One day.

But it shall exist
Even after a thousand years
Solid and real
Lodged  in a bookshelf
Sheltered in a library
Of the history of humanity

Drowning

Agitated air bubbles
Grope for yet more air
And light,
Whilst a heavy chest
Sinks into a bottomless pit
Of nothingness
And yet of
A world more vibrant
Than Imagination.

Futile struggles
Submit to a blessed
Reunion.
Cuddled up
Corpse
In a prenatal position
Free from any earthly harm
Embraced by
Mother-ly love like no other
Nature.