Instinct (feeling)

Illuminating, another dream. A waking life of happenstance.
Caught in your collapsing eyes, a scorched dream.
That empty coffee cup. That missed train.
Find me there.
Calling to you in a voice only God can hear.
The type of sound you can expect only at Christmas.
With choral tunes and awaiting disappointment.
Feelings. Stopped. Frozen for another time.
Frozen, in the summer rain that you hold me under.
I am the moth that flew back to the mountain.
The dragon under foot with a thorn in its side.
I am the love we had that fell into the ocean.
Lost forever in an indifferent tide.

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Mountains

Mountains. As far as the eye can see.
Snow-capped pillars reaching to prick God’s finger.
Hue away the mountainside, take the flesh away from the monster.
Are we rocks if we separate, or still part of that hill?
That unmovable Olympus staining my life’s sky.
Mountains shift and quake when you tremble.
Pushing me further, higher and stronger.
Cutting off the air that warms and suffocates these lungs.
This horizon bleeds a new tomorrow.
Sinking into these weary bones of today.
I do not long for flat plains or tempered air.
This challenge of life hits hard where it needs to.
The frigid terrain, freezing the sweat and blood on my fingertips.
Making me feel each breath that squeezes out at altitude.
Forcing me to look back and see how far I’ve come.
Planting flags in view, no longer in quicksand.
Lofty and up high, as my ego sinks below.
Waiting to ring in the new day, thousands of feet above yesterday’s malaise.
Mountains. All around where this eye roams.
Sealing in nothing but change.

Build me a coffin

We never let tomorrow in, as we ricochet between now and then.
Climbing the mountain each day, never taking the leap.
Of faith.
In the dark.
Holding on to the dying heart.
That beats for the decay.
I want to crawl my fingers to the sunlight.
Drop these excuses which weigh me down.
If not now, then when?
Building a coffin for this dying friend.
This soul I’ve exhausted and run into the ground.
Outgrown and exploited.
Let me howl at the moon in its crumbling position.
Clinging to the last breath.
This static disposition.
My mouth wants new dreams to sink into.
My soul needs to take flight on different wings.
Lay my old self down in the ground. Mark this place.
A memory of the lost and found. Not to be forgotten.
Tomorrow waits for no-one. It’s running at the speed of life.
My blood is stinging now with love and adrenaline.
Pushing me forward to the amazing unknown.
Out of these four walls.
Out of the space.
Crashing into the future with a smile that says ‘lead, don’t follow’.

Skirt your soul

Coughing on the brick dust.
Not complaining.
Just re-arranging.
This sanctuary you’ve housed us in.
Licking the light that shines through the stained teared windows.
You cover me in everything.
You wrap me around you like a piece of string.
Feeling the blood pump through these veins.
Skin on skin. Lips to lips.
With an infinity smile you harken me forward.
Out of this church of our hearts.
The fresh mountain air hits my lungs.
Breathing in the butterfly breath of your exhale.
You tomorrow’s sigh.
Hand gripped and stable. Grounded when I was falling apart.
Steadied my soul.
And when I was letting go, you let me fly.
Soar.

Funeral procession

There’s a prayer that I say that always brings me closer.
Closer to you, though we’re miles apart.
The shadows of death stalk us, licking at our flesh; threatening to spirit us away to nothingness.
Sky shifts and heaven shines. Leading the way forward.
Yet I cannot let go, and you pull me towards the light.
The choir sings and the eyes stare, whispering quiet goodbyes and long buried secrets.
Why do you take me with you? Faith fits me, not you. Not us.
I’m not ready to believe. I’m not prepared for the finality.
Do I know this from somewhere?
I look into your eyes and your halo blinds me. You let go.
All I can smell is turned soil and coffin wood.
Each nail drives its way home as the feet trundle away, descended the mountain I forced them to climb.
Quietness hangs after much searching. These souls shuffle back into the everyday, forgetting where I lie.
Forgetting that I lied.
Making me a saint in their own afterlives. Travelled finally down my own road.