goodbye

You are a hundred miles away
from my ever-present thoughts and dreams.
You are not there when my eyes are closed,
my midnight whisperings aren't what they seem.
I do not hear your silvered voice
and it doesn't cause a secret smile
imagining what you might have said
with every passing twilit mile.
This is not running away from you.
We both knew I was going anyway;
leaving on that dusk-strewn open road
it matters not what the pity filled faces say.
You did not pre-empt my departure.
I do not feel I am betrayed
though you should have come along with me
and should definitely not be laid
where I can feel you but not see you,
and know you are there without touch,
laid in the arms of anothers' dreams;
an inhuman fire that burnt just too much.
I watched you draw away from me,
a vacant look in yellowing eyes
she enveloped you in boundless arms
so that I could only watch my loves' demise.
And now, I see your peaceful face
through tears I said I wouldn't cry
you dream on of lives you lost through her,
I dream of you and dreams that died.

when i am seventy

When I am seventy,
I will kill myself.
It doesn't seem to matter if
we're subject to poverty or wealth
we all return to that
slack-jawed, yellow-eyed simplicity.
It doesn't seem to matter as
to our innocence or complicity.
I have seen it.
The blank stares, the aimless shuffle,
skin crumpling like parchment
an eternal mental scuffle.
I do not want
to live forever and then wait,
following hollow dreams until
I live only in that dreamlike state.

a love poem

This is all I have,
but of all of me you can be sure;
every imperfect: fractured: inch
is yours.
          I am yours.
I offer me up
for your oft sought, rarely achieved approval.
(bearing in mind any you may wish to remove
may remove all in the removal)
          Such as I am, I am yours.
I cannot give more.
I would, I would if I could,
but I can't, and, knowing us,
I don't know that I should.
          As far as I can, I am yours.
I am not like the others.
I cannot ooze unctuous charm like some,
nor am I abrasively brilliant like the few,
and my many facets are not always welcome.
          But I am yours.
As far as you can stand it, I am yours.

cheesy musings in costa: 1

he wishes it was simple
he knows it never is
he takes another longing glance
at what he wishes could be his

she sees his longing glance
and meets it with a glare
determined not to be a thing
determined not to care

she won't be his possession
won't let herself be known
and cannot see the upside
refuses to be shown

he tries to show he gets it
cannot tame the wild thing
cannot stop the beasts from spatting
or silence birds that sing

the further in he stumbles
the further out she steps
pushed on by fear of falling
by fear of being kept

carried on two back one forward
'til too great grows the weight
he moves to fresher pastures
and she gives in too late

she is the tamed wild creature
the beast no longer spats
the bird no longer singing
no mercy shown in that

he cannot be forgotten
she cannot yet forgive
not to now that joint possession
and not to love, to live.

belonging;2

I am who I am
not where I am.

I cannot be held
nor will these 'damn fine' bones meld
with some fey concept
of an emotional debt
to an old grey town
where I am no longer content
to play that charming young clown
in return for an emotional rent.

I am who I am
not where I am.

I will not belong
though in this 'modern day' the encouragement is strong
to this lacklustre place
with its damp walls and dreary pace
and the overall sense that wheresoever you face
you face ambivalence
with little or no grace.

I am who I am
not where I am.

So do not confine me
because there is escapism even in damn poetry
and though physically I am trapped
by an age limit which I believe is capped
at 18; I am then dropped.
To make my own glorious way
as close as possible to the top
so it matters not if I stay.

I am who I am
not where I am.