There was once a man

There was once a man I knew
bright and curious
From the well of his youth had sprung
life and love and hope
And as the moons passed and the seasons changed
this man had stories to tell of all that he owned

There was once a man I knew
led by joy and faith and love and ambition
his empire held him at the table's throne
through the passing moons and the changing seasons

With warm embrace, he held his delicate love
with joyous laughter he chased boredom to the shadows
and met his children in their colourful world of play
and fantasy

Then with calloused rage, his mind turned against him
as a loyal dog turning with rabid intent
The shadows of discontentment enveloped his hope for calm
and he wrestled the moon, to hold away each coming dawn

Now, lost, he wanders the barren plains of his soul
Forsaken by self and the mighty I Am, he lays low with a shuddering cry

There was once a man I knew
now nowhere to be known
Now with death's vacant stare he sees
and lives each day forsaking his throne

Who he was has gone
his past adventures lost to time
that spark to ignite his curiousities and joy
snuffed out with a river of tears

His heart beats, dangling on a delicate thread
above the churning tide of tears that rage
a storm in his stomach's bed
Were his mind to surrender, surely that thread would break?
and with quiet relief, the heart would plummet to drown
and shudder its last beat as, in this sorrowful storm,
it sinks
for the last time

I am that man once known
here to confess my death
My self has passed and lived his last
I am left to wander without soul or rest

Beyond my grasp, he that I was lays cold
I cannot revive or restore that person of old
His body, crumpled and weak, I cannot hold
a good man is gone, with no funeral march or tearful stories told

Sometimes I see pictures, I see his face
where he smiled and laughed, or held a child in warm embrace.
Where he conquered a mountain or sought to share cheer
But I am all that is left
and he is not here.

He was a good person, a good man
who has long-since passed
I am not what he became, but perhaps God stole him away?
Rather that than think he is lost in me

If the moon could hide...

If the moon could hide away behind the silver clouds, surely it would,
But exposed, unprotected, absolute in its vulnerability, it stands
Innocent and alone, with spindly branches reaching across its face like anorexic claws, trying to scratch beneath its surface
Trying to tear into its beauty,
They quiver in glee and shudder in their dark purpose

Or perhaps they simply are less than they seem
Perhaps these claws are merely branches in the night, rattling obediently in the breeze
Perhaps it is in my own mind that their intention shows malice
That the moon’s humility displays fear and that the night holds within it a heavy and mysterious menace

What is this night?
What is this moon?
Am I a claw in the night, or a hand reaching out in hope
Splayed out and desperate?
Which is my reflection and my place?
Behind which do I hide my face?
With tears and smirks and smiles and disgrace?

My cosmos

My fate, half realised, lays before me
A path half-trodden, a vessel half empty
Would time yield to my anguished cries,
To my panicked breath, or downcast eyes?

Where youth, with a moments care, delighted
In life and love, and in fear froze excited
My fears now bring no joy to my eyes,
But, premature, a deathly gaze, and goodbyes

Despair and regret intertwined,
Dance wispily upon a plane of thought in mind
Would life become less than a memory treasured?
And love, bonded, broken and loneliness measured?

Upon her I, a star, strive to shine
Three moons in her orbit, and her in mine
My love, once light, and warmth at night
Scorches their faces, my anguish sharp and bright

That thought

There is pain that I try to hide away
and depths of despair denied and pushed
down into the gut of my ignorance
But it presses against my flesh
from within it pushes without rest

With the busyness of conscience and the weight of sorrows
how, how, how can I stand free?
But where would I lay, or walk or run or hide?
It is myself, always with me, that I despise

So could the peace of darkness be my rest?
Could unfeeling awareness swallow my woes
and those woes that I bestow on all who venture close?

Could I break that second's fear to plunge, to bleed
to strive for a last breath through the vice of a taut lead?
Peace? Love? Neither are present or satisfy. I have none of
these, just a desire, a need, a lonely lie

I have a cause, a purpose, a drug, a compulsion
I have an infestation of urges, whims and repulsion
a need to hold, to hug, to lie naked with a strangers face
to writhe in dirty, cold and meaningless embrace
to thrust and pull and kiss and nibble
to twist my thistle, to push and wiggle, to sweat and dribble
and grope and fiddle

When the beast lay within, it slumbered
it dozed, it sat tiredly, too humble to impose
but now hear him roar
see him rise up to destroy
to devour happy hours, to hunt down all joy

My selves and me, we thought we were free
we stood over the carcass of self with glee
we relished all that we could now feel and see
but we see death parading our heart's streets
and hope pulled along, in binds and on knees
this sun has set and light faded away
and shadows have become darkness where taunts laugh and play
no stars, no moon, no morning to come soon
sleep now, time to rest
lay down my head in quiet regret

On the shore

My scars are scales over my eyes
never again will I perceive love
My wounds remain as long as my eyes are wide
not blood, but tears glisten in the day's light

It is lonliness to which I have condemned my soul
It is regret with which I have bound and anchored my heart

With searing remorse for my mind's travels
With quiet anger for my afflictions of thought
With impassioned fury at my reason and logic
I look to darkness and silence for peace and relief

On the cold, distant shores of my heart, on which I have exiled my soul
I huddle and grasp at any warmth of self that remains
Where once my reflection smiled and glistened
in the calm waters in which I looked
Now a turbulent ripple distorts my face
and may the waters grow more stormy still.
May fire dry them up with complete power
May fire consume my soul -and surely it will

Should the Almighty have His perfect and gracious way
my flesh would char and boil and peel and crackle in the fifth circle of Hell
For my woes, my tears, my sorrows and angers belong with me there,
not to be whispered into his paternal ear

May Heaven be joyous and the lowest of the Saints be forever proud of their stature.
May the toasting glasses of the saved and the wonderful hasten to hide the anguished cries of the damned and broken
May the saints share in their cheerful chorus as the Angel of Mourning casts her song over the end days of earth.
May the deserving meek be ushered through the gates, as the guilty weak are swept into the darkness by the sharp bristles of God's judgement.

For my afflictions, I may burn
For my weakness, I may be beaten lower still
For my tears, I may be given cause to weep and mourn
For my anger, I may be given no excuse or grace
For the cold shudder that jars my bones and quivers my lip as the
vast lonliness of this canyon of existence descends upon my soul,
I am given no comfort or remedy.

I can only, helplessly, be.