Desolate heart

I miss you
My days have grown so silent I can hear my heart beating
I can feel the tremble this beating heart sends through my limbs
I can see the silence
That which invites into my moments, a stillness that terrifies
Like your (lovely) presence, my words have left me,
They have become estranged
from me
so much so that my mouth opens but utters
I can see it
I can see my aching heart
Sprouting pain in The form of heat
It rises through me
From my chest
I see it

I can see eyes drown itself in tears
and dry itself back up in a second
Who am I to cry?
Why should I?
I would only,
if these tears will flow to you
and bring your paddling back to me
But they won’t

I can see myself,
Lost in thought
Where I stand
I am certain
I miss you


Night Ballad

Quiet cold night
Sing to me a ballad
One that my heart recognises
These tears need their company

 Like you

My sleep smells like you
The sweet scent of your hair pressed against my face

My sleep smells like you
I smell your breath as it encompasses me

My sleep smells like you
The rising and falling of your heart captivating mine

My sleep smells like you
My god! you still look beautiful

My sleep smells like you
The memory of your presence hunts

My sleep smells like you

I reach for you you . . . to run my hand through your hair

My sleep smells like you
Of your heart on mine, breath on mine, breast on mine

My sleep smells of you
Now here I lie, sad

My sleep smells of you
As my heart (desperately) misses you

Protect me

Hold me away from these tears
Please keep me far from them
They charge at me as though my sentence has been declared
The approach me as though my resistance is futile
The wage assault on me as though I have, their god, cursed

Please keep me from these tears
My heart crumbles under the sorrow that precedes it
Hide me far from it
Do not let my composure be stolen
Do not let this flood rise from my eyes
For I fear
in its birth, it’s end may never come


I will not sing the praises of my sacrifice
They are worth nothing compared to you
They are worth nothing before the sun
They are worth nothing before your song
They are worth nothing in the light

I will not sing praises of my sacrifices
They are worth nothing beside you
They are worth nothing when spoken
They are worth nothing
I will, never

How they run

They didn’t race down my face like I thought they would
They stayed in my eyes
Clouding up my vision
I feared reaching for them may break their binding
You see, liquids have something known as surface tension
It binds their surface together
and can keep them from spilling
that is why you have drops in the shape you have them
I did not want to interfere with them
Least the tears break and races down my cheek
I will stand with the cloudy vision
Stare ahead and see nothing
Overwhelmed by this illusion of vision
or confidence
I will not touch these eyes
Lest they . . .

They run



I stand here before you
– sorrow
I have darkened the clouds above you
I filled them with rocks till they rained
earth covered with bloodied pebbles
Anchors from today, will run from the earth to your heart
Tugging at them
These heart will do more than be heavy
I, sorrow
have cover the earth with your tears
Salty and dry
I have dried the oceans with them
Lakes, rivers are fountains have been driven to hiding
by these tears

I am the bearer of this sadness
Of this cold days
I strut though your streets with the dry wind
And the clanging of silence and sobs
The creaking of dried [tear] ducts
The famished groan of a soul
I am the bearer of this

I stand, broken

Before you is sorrow
The bearer of your anguish
My heart curses me
And I have no more words of rebuke for myself
In this day, I have become what I have done
– sorrow

The worst thing

The worst things about breakups is knowing you can survive it
Your heart falls into the rhythm of knowing
Of knowing that this is not the end of the world
A thought, meant to bring some sense of calm
holds in its centre, the sadness that tears a heart to shreds

The worst thing about breakups is knowing you can survive it
While you realise that you are no longer in love
You start to doubt if you ever were
Your memories are relieved before you
And the very elements of your joy, dismantled
Tears now seem like a blessing
For as a man, you are distracted momentarily by the discomfort
The society expectation of your strength and emotional numbness

The worst thing about break ups is knowing you will survive it
You being questions the beating it felt in its heart
The heat you felt rise the first time you stared into those eyes
If you ever [really] held her as the sun of your world
one that brightens your day,
one that gives the moon with enough shine for your night
one that fixed a smile on your face
– even when the flames around turned your glory to ashes

The worst thing about breakups is knowing you can survive it
Knowing that you world was never assured
Knowing your heart was never forever
knowing your truth was never true

Dreams of the anarchist

I dream of the anarchist
I don’t know where that places me on the scale
that which runs from conformist to revolutionist
I don’t know if that makes me a potential post-structuralist
Or is this just a musing of the ideology they hold
I wonder the world to devolution
The end of the establishment
I wonder,
If she takes their hand and spins them in a dance
None that represents class
One born out of “creativity”
that volatile style distinct with its flailing arms
Feet hammering the earth
Contorted expressions
And distinctive jerks
Such is the dance best suited for tonight

Fill the air with you cheers
For the anarchist is enliven!
Her words will quicken your spirit
The flags will burn green
and peace will be the bane of all “wew-men”

I do dream of the anarchist
I don’t think these dreams are long enough

From a poet

I heard a poem about me
And it made my heart heavy
I don’t think the author know me
I don’t think the reader though particularly of me
I still was certain, that lines were about me
The words fit like gloves, tailored for me
They rested around my hands
and the gestures that ensued were home n me
The poet described the pains my hands caused
How they reached down in the well
pulling tears from the joyous
they held firmly, the lungs of the runner
from caressing to squeeze
– till all was empty and desolate
– till Love was estranged
– till the flood drowned us
– till the fires were extinguished
– till they consumed our souls whole
– till bodies fell limp
– till hope was set afloat
– face down

I heard this poem
And my sorrow was made whole