Running From?

ChainsawPenguin

image

Within her and the quickening of red,
Frantically looking about the landscape.
Against the nearest wall, she beats her head.
What is she searching for? Is it escape?
She doesn’t know, with her memory grown,
So dark and into the mist, and faded,
She wonders if her sanity has flown.
To what cold cage was her freedom traded?
She is running again, always running.
Wanting to look back, but not knowing why.
Onward and running, trusting her cunning,
Never being able to stop, she cries.
So frantic and running and cold and cracked,
Running and running, no time to look back.

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Words Sewn Together

Mocking Bird Down

liar-mask

I ache,
from carrying the
burden
of your collected
pain.
Pain that you
gather as you fall down
in the door ways
of home after home.
I could
decorate willow
trees,
with trinkets of
sorrow, all
yours, for miles.
Sadness in every colour.
But I sew it all together,
instead, and remind you of the
order. Because lies need
to be remembered, and one day,
when I have woven your words into
all of the doorways, and all of the homes,
and all of the trinkets and all of the sorrows become
so heavy,
that even I
can no longer
carry, or
remember
the order;

then –

I will walk away, and I will have
made sure that you are bound to it all,

and you will no longer be able freely follow me.

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Broken Bird

Mocking Bird Down

black bird

She was the angel of slow death.
Each kiss a reminder of how
close I was
to the last.
Her heart was so big,
and so full,
and so wild;
it could not be just mine.
I would have suffocated the gypsy
spirit in her that fought so hard
to believe
that love was all that
the greeting cards said it was.
That the poet’s were right,
That the words spoken by the powerful
lovers of the world somehow meant that
love alone would conquer all. Bring down mountains
and pause the chaos in an angry universe.

She didn’t understand.
I was a destroyer of worlds. I didn’t want
to share her heart. Her wild, and her inner child,
and the magic of her solar system.
I wanted to cage it.
Protect it.
Hide it.

Not share it.

The black bird with the
broken wing.
She is.

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Strawberry Fields

H.M. Nolan

I’ll try not this night to waste my time

on foolish endeavors

To stay somber, to stay sober

and still be OK

And maybe as the stars light the sky

I’ll write for you

while the little boy in the background wears his mascara eyes

and argues with a tree

I’ll fantasize the lyrics are mine

and you are mine

and we have all the time in the world

to make mistakes

to endure heartache after heartache

until I am too foolish to fear my own vulnerability

until the darkness lifts

until the dawn bleeds color into your black and white

and shortens these long sleepless nights

This life can be strawberry fields

under the swirls of your orange and purple sky

I’ll paint your oil stained hands

and perhaps for this moment

I will stop my wandering

and stop my wondering

what it was

you ever saw in me.

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