Atop the crossroads

Atop the crossroads
and among the humming stars,
where the ticking clock
casts fate
Peace from
grotesque memories,
where the shadows are drawn near,
and wavering light of hope
refuses to dawn
Sin ever-inviting
in the empty sorrow
The words lingering and stained
for the unmolested steel
lured to the flesh

© 2016

A grave fortune

A grave fortune
Lusted by the lonesome
And given to the unworthy
A chance to dream
While death lingers
Lost in searching for those
Vagrant hearts
Tortured by the world

© 2009

I have witnessed the end

I have witnessed the end;
The death of the Heavens
And men fall to the lusts of this Earth
I endured all pains of this world
And inevitably death will take me

© 2010

left in sadness

left in sadness
a shadow lurks
in my mind
with raging torrents
welling in my eyes and
the despair caged
in my heart

with no beacon to
guide me
from the shadows
of my mind
the sadness is

© 2010

Shaken, so lost

Shaken, so lost
yet beginning to see
it all.
In darkness
in darkness
my mind left to crawl
to the forbidden
to the unsaid
to the designed daemons
who maul
from within.
They are my own.
And in this hour, I weep.
Sweet sorrow,
for my heart does keep
waiting for the day
when I fall

© 2016

Fire’s kiss – original

There is nothing more soothing than a fire’s kiss, scarring an eternity of love upon a lonely soul. That was my lust; my desire. I envisioned my heart staining another’s, redeeming myself from all the melancholy in my life; owing myself affection after the torment which consumed my mind. But that was not to be.

© 2010

When a repressed memory decides to surface…

This is a short poem and may not mean much to some, but these four lines are about a time when I felt so vulnerable and empty. I wrote this when a memory surfaced, one that I had managed to block out entirely for many years. It wasn’t until I began writing a creative piece for university about a similar subject, that this repressed memory decided to make itself known, and expected me to be crushed under its weight.

And it worked.

I just happened upon the poem today. It was written in a notebook that I evidently had barely touched, and now I know why.

Sometimes I wish I could go back to forgetting. Though, sometimes I wonder if it is in fact best remembering, so I can learn from it, and try to heal myself… somehow.

Looking at my poem now, my demeanour has changed instantly to one of sadness, embarrassment, and self-loathing. Four lines, and my day is ruined.

Echoes stirring
Threatening to surge
An unwanted touch
An unwanted word

© 2014