My eyes have become the blurry vision
Of what they once used to see,
Fading sunlight in a white-washed
Washing machine.
The deck has become stained
With forgotten footsteps,
Leaving only smears
As marks on my mind.
And I delicately touch rough bark
Encircling our plum tree,
Tracing lines from hither to tither
Like the vision I once used to see.
I hung onto raindrops
That caressed a blurry,
Single paned window
Sitting empty in a dusty house,
Too tall for company.
I flicked white paint
Peeling along the border,
Imagining my memory
Washed away by a doorbell
That signalled good news.
Of course, a dream
Only dreams,
For never has a swan been seen
Basking among scarred lands:
Desolate trees with
Children’s toys scattered,
Left behind in a moments rush
Towards a meaning to all this silence.
Her hands will die
Maker’s shoulder
Sifting clean sheets
Un-kept wicker
Lie not to her
Monotonous
Cold cold flower
Hold not wishes
Wind blows strong here
Lives hold on with
Tall tall top hats
Blurry shading
All I’ve covered
Dying grasses
Loudly told me
Surrender youth
Make me love her
Dying oak tree
Make me cry here
Falling dead leaves
Take me home my
Lonesome lover
Take me past all
Reverie then
And if this aye
Shall swerve this goat
To set me free
Shall make an end
Then ere warned
Five thousand shorn
A gooses neck
Death brings this end
That night as the warm wind blew through the unsettled windows
Driving armies of little prickles down the side of my exposed legs
Drawing warmth from the naked maiden, eyes closed, semi-lucid
But the myth of time that ticks silently on in the blurry distance
Calls out names that ring familiar through my ears
Itching at the lost memories that shan’t return again
Smiling at the pure maiden of the sweet summers night
And knowing it won’t last much longer in spite the desolation it entails
Grabbing hands tear at the strings laid upon my back
And I sit back down, resting my frayed hairs upon the silken sheets