Poison

picture credit: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Purple-Poison-29200182

The demon still hovers on billboards, in stores,

in people around me, in musical chords,

he’s built a huge stage with gold as his wares

for those to please enter his devious snares.

And though his smooth voice, now familiar to me,

can’t lead me to mischief, the ultimate deed,

his power’s around me, each hour, each day,

taunting and tempting his pleasurable ways.

From him I can’t hide, can’t pretend he’s not there,

I’d lie if I said that I no longer care,

for seven long years he has been in my wake,

yet still I keep hov’ring between love and hate.

…as much as I wish for that carefree numb mood,

its pleasure I lived for, with passion pursued,

I can never find it again, I have changed,

it tore me to pieces, we are now estranged.

 In support of OcSober - http://www.enca.com/south-africa/ocsober-challenge-can-you-go-month-without-alcohol 

The day I drove past my childhood home

picture credit: http://nightkn8.deviantart.com/art/Old-Mansion-198319322

I realized I had been avoiding it,

much as I had ‘lost’ contact with people from school,

shunned reunion’s as a rating game to see how you've fared in life,

on this, the day, I found myself in viewing distance

of the house in which I grew up...

I looked at a house that was no longer there

and heard the whisper of children’s voices on the wind...

grown up’s dictating, children obeying, silence when ordered so…

And as more images tumbled over one another in a chaotic mess,

I found myself searching for flashes of happiness,

for regret that I no longer lived there, was 14-years old,

free from any responsibility and looking forward to the rest of my life...

surely they must also be there somewhere?

Had that even lived there, or had it been struck from the record

by too many bleary eyes, apprehension of what will be

and the never-ending state of pretend in which we lived.

Blame

Deny

Hide

Pretend

…those were the rules of that 14-year old girl:

no use making ties, reject attachments -

much easier than to trying to explain and giving them ammo -

don’t excel, don’t fail, just stay in the field that warrants the least attention,

don’t side, don’t speak out, be agreeable and make peace no matter what.

Yet each time the moon colored the world a happy silver

she felt the shame that wasn't her’s to bear,

bowed under the guilt that wasn't her’s to carry,

and cried for the choices that weren't her’s to make…

Are these the images that remained, even after all these years???

I stare at this house so familiar, yet oddly foreign,

where the color is wrong and the trees have disappeared…

a house that looks like it’s been stripped by heartache and despair,

a garden that’s surrendered to the ravages of nature.

And as I drive away I wonder whether it is the memories that taint this house,

or whether time has simply waged its war and won…

Absolution

picture credit: http://ambrits.deviantart.com/art/Little-church-63497244

A silent death awaits those

who prey on the weakness of others

for absolution of their sins,

those willingly accepted as their own to bear

in moments of their own flawed redemption.

Intuition

picture credit: http://transient-ambient.deviantart.com/art/human-intuition-27107425

Intuition……

slight disparities perceived

by your senses sharp retrieved,

while your logic is deceived.

Just another abandoned brownstone

picture credit: http://vikingexposure.deviantart.com/art/Door-of-the-Rusted-Dreams-3085458

A brownstone, abandoned, captures my eye

as the dying rays of the sinking sun

play through ancient and tall oak trees.

A chill in the air now takes my hand

and leads me to the faded green door,

while the leaves are whispering in my ear,

“Open the door... there’s no-one home…”

The musty smell of wandering ghosts meet me on the other side,

those who leave no footprints, yet still brush my arms

in welcome to their old and graceful home.

Wooden floors creak, an echo of movement from years gone by,

whilst spider webs sway from the ceiling like old memories...

A myriad of smudges on the dusty windowpanes

decorate the peeling walls with charming and playful sketches

that are not quite the way you see them now, never the way you thought,

and they cast doubt and fear in the ever deepening night...

The Silence of a Moonless Night

picture credit: http://browse.deviantart.com/art/silence-311309334

The time has stopped an hour before dawn

and you’re lost in the perpetual silence of a moonless night

that offers no comfort and smothers faith

as the lifeless air steals the breath of hope from the breaking dawn.

Midnight at Noon

picture credit: http://browse.deviantart.com/art/Full-moon-in-the-desert-84484033

The bright silver light of a round full moon

mirrors in the daylight,

through cloud layer thin and muted sound,

a moment'ry of midnight at noon.

How to train your Dragon

picture credit:  http://browse.deviantart.com/art/Smoke-10839153

When the dragon looks at you with its gaze hypnotic, deep,

you can feel the peaceful dream of the freedom numbness heaps,

on your body and your mind as it feeds you with its breath,

taking hold and wanting more of this wanted, timeous death.

 It’s a dragon that won’t go, who demands a part of you,

with each breath he takes a piece of the dream state you once knew,

‘til the craving in you mounts to a thirst you cannot sate,

and you chase the dragon whom you no longer can dictate.

This is when you start to sink into ruins black with mould,

while your addled mind keeps seeking ways to shed this dire hold,

yet the desperation claws, shredding reason, tearing pride

into shards that cut you deep, and the dragon’s back inside.

 'til the night when lightning ripped through the clouds into your soul,

thunder roaring as the dragon fought to keep you in control,

and although I may succumb to the wafting tail tomorrow

for this moment it is I who no longer deigns to follow…