I tried beautiful,

I tried pristine,

I was no good at it

I’m not neat within

I’m not “clean”

Even externally, I cannot master

Clearing every bit of clutter

I’m raw, like an egg

It’s not pretty to have a cracked head

But if I don’t

I’m practically dead

As inanimate and detached as my wooden bed

To be raw is

Painful,

Ugly,

Messy,

But it’s rich with fee...

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The haunting of a broken tap: drip, drop

The thirst after the sun: drink, gulp

She never said a lot, gargling girl

Sliding in and out of my body

Helping me breathe, walk, talk

That was why I swam

It was water

Brought me alive floating out to No Man’s

Diving down to skim the sand

It was water

Wanted it, always had it, but could never catch it.

It was water

Insipi...

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I feel like a blank sheet of paper

White and clean

A colourless vapour

just emptiness

and nothing else

not good

or bad

just

nothing

nothing at all

like a black hole

it’s as if white is not a colour

it’s just

when you don’t have any

no yellow smiles

no grey trials

no tears running blue

no red beds for two

no black roses

for all the losses

...

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On Man

Like tiny ants we scurry

Between skyscrapers of grass,

Peeping about - a human worker class.

Watching ourselves surpassing all limits,

Creators of structures, cultures, unimaginable wonders.

Finding God thriving within us.

Do we think the ant knows of it’s impending mortality?

Knows it’s destined to a life of sheer ephemerality?

Or knows it’s intricate c...

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Look left, look right
look up and down
this world is yours to grasp
But how, you ask, can tiny fingers cage this winding land?
Skeins of yarn that track behind
this tattered blanket's end
Scurl and furl, the webs of fate
knit in seeming whim
A spiders web, intricate order
cast in gossamer strands
To trap and tremble sweet memories,
the prey this spider hunts
No different are these imag...

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Fate comes, though we see it not
Time treads onward, however we dig in our heels
Vigilance toward one threat leads to negligence of another,
and the cruel limits of mortality aren't shy in their reminder
It is this ceaseless grasping at what can only slip through our fingers,
this continued effort at being or creating something which stands outside time that withers our hearts so.
Desire and...

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