"She comes more nearer earth than she was wont And makes men mad"

The words seen saw the tears spill, shatter on

Soul’s glass shards lain bare in the broken moon-

light that slit the window pane and backlit

the veins beneath my frosted skin – my eyes

too weakened, too blank to meet even with

Luna’s incensed gleam.

In that single beat

my tongue craved the cool – sh-sharp clarity

of a liquor long-missed and my heart cried

for your touch - and the – and – and the – clock – ticks –

and the blood – drips –

Degradation of Verse

To write of thee here is not an assault

against thine own person or character,

but more a mugging of these very words;

a grievance against their use and beauty.

To write of thee here, is to wound this verse

and sin against the naked honesty

of language, prayer and tongues, staining their truth.

Thy name is wrong.

It burns the lips of angels as they sing

for thy salvation – thou art so judged.

Yet tragedy this is not; thou art no

Icarus burned down with grieving parent,

flight is ne’er possible for one so weighed

by Hell’s hot flames and Devil’s low whispers.

I consign myself to a life of shame

in the knowledge that I am to blame for

the mauling of words with thy mentioning

and the murder of angels with thy name

and the clear flaunting of the ugliest

Anger, nay, Hatred, for thy shameless sin

against that binding elixir we crave -

You have wounded Love.

As I have wounded poetry in so telling.

Put An Angel to Her Knees

God’s Kingdom is desperation to them.

Them black angels who kneel in shadow, pushed

down twitching – forced – on the muddied ground.

Halo pawned to feed that bump they hidin’,

cursing colours – perverted – toxic blue -

but none shall hear them.

                                         Forsaken.  Beaten.

They just the whores of Britain town.  That just

Anger, thas streak’d their vision, the routes there

of needles’ aids.

-          “Bloody whore! –

-          “She bloody swore - ”

“But you dint pay for the hour mate so all bets are off.”

I'll teach her the nursery rhymes, you'll teach her to walk

Hide, my Danny boy, hear

the pipes have started wailing;

soon we’ll hear the silence

as your body starts a-failing.

To market, to market,

to buy my baby’s world;

to clinic, to clinic,

You killed my baby girl.

I’ve found you again, Love –

don’t cry now, it’s fine;

Sweeney Todd may scar, Sweet,

cut throats do leave a line.

To market, to market,

to buy myself distraction;

came back with a gun,

and plenty ammunition.

Your roses were red,

my bruises turned blue;

flames will heal all

when they burn me with you.

'Neath These Stars

Bury me in our garden, Love; that time

so oft’ spoken of is nearly here.  When

I have grown still in thine arms, when the warmth

of my heart has faded, carry me out.

Hold me close, Love, for this night brings a chill

that does cut to the core.  When I am gone,

when the damp earth must replace  thy loving

caress, bring me flowers; let them grow

where nought else could be grown.  I leave

thee childless as found, but not untouched – ne’er

untouched.  Rosa, lilium, betula;

let them flourish where I could not.  But do

not once think me in cruel darkness my love,

for I can see the stars forever now.

Will I be lonely?  How cold is this fear;

Thee be my world and heaven still but

does God know?  Did we ever tell Him, dear,

that our souls danced entwined ‘neath these dark skies?

That time is here and I am torn from thee.

The seasons have changed, and my world grows bleak.

Let me go, Love.  Let my soul fly free

and dance ever ‘neath these bright stars with thee.

When God Looketh Away

Death has many facets.  The garnets that

sleep in those open wounds in torn flesh bleed

the preciousness of life, abandoning

these breathless, cooling bodies as they writhe.

Their deadened eyes turn to heaven still and

beg in all their damnation for that bless’d

relief,  but the Heavens are deaf to the

crippled cries of those destroyed in Hell’s name.

Let it be hell – one small mercy; those wretch’d

creatures could be of no other origin.

The babies scream for their mothers not yet

home from where they search the burnt battlefield

for that crimson carcass they might once more

call their lover.

Corpse f_ckers.

Corpse lovers -

there is nothing else left now.  The remnants

of our darkened bloodied past must press back

together the hours of tomorrow’s night;

day is gone now, the light is burned up or

bottled for blistering Deaths.  There is flame death,

believe – it melts your skin and makes steam

from water; if only those flames could reach

our hearts so that we might claw ourselves up -

sothatImayclawattheirfleshandeyes

sothatImayclawbackourchildren’slives

- and right these wrongs.  But a mother holds close

the tattered remnants of her baby’s stained

blankets and weeps this loss of innocence;

yesterday she did kiss her lover’s lips as

he left to fight the evils, today she

tastes the blood on her tongue as she buries

together the broken bodies of child

and father, united in death.  She, poor

wretched lady, is cruelly left alone,

forgotten by those who tore her apart.

In rage she cries to the heavens, but too

bitter with grief is she to seek revenge,

and so the defeat drags on.  And we scream

For thine is the Kingdom,

- The blackened bones and glory -

Forever and ever,

Amen.

...Our men.

Across the Water We Did Dream

Thine eyes are liquid fire, Love, blue embers

that whisper Aphrodite’s prayer as the

catasterisation of thy soul sets

this silver darkness alight.  What promise

is here, what future that the angels hath

sworn of Sky’s beauty to star-crossed lovers?

Our promise, Lover – mine to thee.  For if

thy heart be my world, then denied, I am

broken.  Rather distance on land than black

emptiness between, better Night’s embrace

than constellations torn apart; the weaver

of stars doth hate thee for casting Dark’s jewels’

beauty into doubt, for they hold no match

against thy sapphire eyes.  Caelo amor.

For L.T. x

The Devil hath cursed the windows into thy soul

The shades of yesteryear haunt thy soul as

The dark dreams of tomorrow scream on in

Spite.  For what is life but dark minds sequinned

With bloody desires, sweet mendacity

Its only mask, sin its only sanctum?

Contrast the look with intent – this beauty

Hides but the bitter poison of malice

Conceived in Hell and wept in blood.  This be

Not life, not light at all; we crouch trembling

In shadow as Death stalks our empty eyes –

Souls taken, now for the pane.  For, look:

The angels are blind.

My Secret

I can see you through the crack in the door, lying on the bed with a DVD case in your hand; you’re waiting for me to come back, but I don’t know what to say to you – I don’t know what to do... In this, at least, I’m an amateur.  I smile, trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach.  You’d laugh at me, if you saw me like this, make some joke about how for once in my life, I’m scared...how for once in my life, I don’t know what to do.  Because I’m completely clueless about what it is that I’m doing –

-          Truly, baby.  Help me?

But you can’t, because you don’t know yet.  I haven’t told you my secret, and I don’t know if I can; if I could be sure of your reaction, then I’d be with you right now, sharing with you, explaining to you exactly what’s happened.  But I am so very scared of losing you.  I know I need to tell you – I have to.  But I’m not used to being frightened or unsure; I usually have you with me, going through exactly the same, and keeping me strong.

But you can’t, not this time... You still don’t know.

I push the door open; you look up, you smile.  I’m shaking but I hope you can’t see; I’m twenty-seven years old, and I haven’t been afraid of anything bar losing you since we met, in that other place – our place – across that stretch of water.

“Heyy, you took your time gorgeous,” you murmur as I cuddle up next to you and you kiss me.  You start talking about the movie we’re going to watch, something horrific dreamed up from the depths of hell about aliens and blood and massacre.  I’m not really listening; I hear the sound of your voice, but I cannot distinguish the words.  I’m just waiting for them to stop so I can tell you.

The silence comes, eventually.  My face is close to yours, our hands entwined as I look into those eyes, just as they begin to process that I’m not going to answer whatever question it is that you asked.  You look puzzled – can you read what I want to tell you from my face?  Please, lift it from my expression...I’m scared of saying it.

I move back a little as the silence envelops us... my hands are hot in yours.  They betray me, can you feel?  Can you tell I’m scared?

I take one of those hands, hands that are that little bit bigger than my own, and guide it to my body, resting on my tummy.  You look at me, beginning to understand.

I’m pregnant, and you’re going to be a daddy.

If I’d been scared of your reaction... nervous about how you’d take the news, bear my secret... I had underestimated you, because that night, I had never been so loved.

No. We, had never been so loved – me, and our baby.

*I decided that I should write something a little more cheerful :) I hope you all like! Personally, this makes me go awww :) *