A doorway, enters, through me. Where, Your exit.. ..is marked, ‘Yours truly, Ours falesly’. As, the cause, like, Your hair: greys. Time — seasons. Each follicle, for me, with; bitter pepper and stung salty. Rendering, black and white; the fool in me. Whilst memories, pile up, like, a plated myriad, begs for.. ..clean slates.. ..to just forget it. There, really, was, only, absence in.. ..the notion of.. ..yesterday’s paternal love potion. Before I crawled. Packed were your bags. As, I, packed bags.. ..under my eyes; of melancholia sad- ness. Until they’re filled to burst. Into — supernovic oceans.
It is about the answers I thought I would find from walking on my own. But, only discovered once I took a journey in league with therapy:
The pilgrimage I made, no destination stayed, other than the circles, run around, my broken pieces.
I stepped on cracks, in pavement slabs, where deep purple, run aground, reddy-blue releases.
The red was raw, the blue was bleak, the purple, it filled my brogues. With vacant sores, that through me leaked,
an emptiness; to my soul.
I walked and walked, for miles and miles, convinced that, I, rich with cogence, wasn’t; searching only for, those lonely whiles; that litter the poor, old roads of prophets.
So, today, I bide, hand-in-hand, alongside, with those that I; crawled with first, then, strolled, and ran.
Together, we remain in unjaded lanes, me and my broken pieces.
Yet, I never took the strides, to, truly, understand them until now. And, now, we know; what peace is.
I went over Pacific Edge Way where mythic clovers cover unicorns at play.
The verdant gleam intersects their platinum coats.
Glistening like the milky lush below the mountain lair.
Where inside a lored dragon embraces shimmers from coin-cached bedfellows.
Unisi in flocks together float over silver-emerald-meadows.
With turned luck’s horseshoes looking down upon the bay.
Gilded with molten remnant decay from my old phantastic prison.
That gold barbaric cage.
That gold barbaric cage enclosed by alabaster grange sat atop a tower beset with elephant tusks arrayed.
It was made with the intention of keeping me afraid to leave from it’s retention.
Seeking freed exploration within my inner caves.
So, aft I’d plucked feathered courage to form my pinions for to fly.
From a window of the grange beside that gold barbaric cage I plotted my escape with a flit, descending eye.
Off the tallest reaches of a tower eleven heavens high..
..I plummet.
Chasing the cascading tears I cried into the caverned myriads of change that came with each and every age that I went over & through under a metamorphosising sky.
That gold barbaric cage unforgiven within my heart it stays.
As an unbled, scarred reminder that dreams of owning golden bars release the worst of evils in the most well-meaning people.
And so I’ve striven for permanent vacay here over Pacific Edge Way where I can bask amongst the stars with the Unisi and Unicorns that are much kinder than the worst evil in those people with imprisoned dreams of golden bars and that gold barbaric cage.
I lost my balance in your slipstream. Which made me a black dolphin. Water-fallen. Hydrogen’s, Oxygen’s moleculed fool. Mocked by the squalling, squawk of rocks. Disregarded like me at the bottom. Surrounded with wet ridicule. As, afterwards in scorn I’m walled-in.
Navy blue hues, shank at, gloomed bile. Melancholia. Impales my stomach. A black, gutted sea dog. Skewered on a goring spear, from out of my depths. By the bluest blue marlin.
No soppy words, nor, sentimental sentence, could atone for my life spent, silently; whistling-clicks, bawling. Searching for you, in a roaring sea’s unanswers. At the damp hands, of your unrepentence. Your unfathering.
In which, unbeknownst to you, you carry, Irresponsibility’s goring spear, violently. And, that is when you; transfixed your own son.
I have become an unflipt calendar, with halting pages, slow. That, only, turn over, to; stop, freeze, lay, low.
A quickening mind of dates & times, that remains unmet. Whilst caught, fraught— lost, under a snow-driven age.
And, as life-long, cold barren winters, called, ‘Chronostasis’, hold to chilled ransom my nightly blights. They thrust toward me, unjust, piercing my exposed thoughts, with sharp ice-picks that cut right through the absence of my joy in evening’s light.
They bleed from my seasons, any chance of, a sun-soaked homecoming.
Instead, giving out to each, lone, shivering memory, yearning for familial embraces —
taut
a blizzarding blow that buffets away, any sense from me,
of those cosy, halcyon days:
my youth, spent a-bask,
in tobasco summer’s warmth.
Each night, that passes me by,
unmoved.
I am, further from, my point of equatorial origin.
And, so, I wander, lost; A requiem of frost glazed & cracked on my window’s secret pane. I tried to cut my loss in woods — glass-eyed, cross. But, the frozen plaque on my see-through heart it stayed.
I was not the same after you left. So, I wander, lost, like, uncaught breath.
I exhaled mouthed mist. Upon crystal apertures. To scrawl your name and face. But, no matter the words I scribed, or, tears I stopped & shied. The Condensation’s dots: below, atop — crying i’s, still do not reveal your gaze.
So, I wander, lost. In branchly moss. Until, my private pane, defrosts. Hoping one day for a view:
The name Edith, of Old English origin, means “prosperous in war” or “rich in battle”. It combines the elements “ead,” meaning “wealth” or “prosperity,” and “gyth,” meaning “strife” or “war”.
Perseid in British English
(ˈpɜːsɪɪd ) noun. any member of a meteor shower occurring annually around August 12th, appearing to radiate from a point in the constellation Perseus and derived from comet Swift-Tuttle. Word origin.
I saw you in the afterglow, of the tailed swishes, across a Gloaming’s sky. I caught you in my roaming eye, like, failed wishes; reborn From their own crashes; grown.
For twenty years, you have shined on high. Casting the heavens bright, from the wealth, of burning flames, on August nights. That rage, like; war, within your name.
I witness their fractured patterns. Thinking of you — whole. And, reminisce, on the fire in your soul. There, I visit your scattered ashes. Scorching; dark, white, like, coal. Unlimited in death, as you were in life;
Now, here, I forever wait. On the horseback cusp, late. Of a wish’s, yet, to come, truth. An outlier, fallen under hoof. Broken, misspoken.
Eating other’s empty words.
But, I, green, unstill, have black-sanguine dreams. In my tossed, turned, undying sleep. Of misfortune returning me, unto this bitter Earth. Where peace can’t take root, only; rumble, brief, under warmonger’s boot.
poorman'sdreams 