It isn’t over

Lines in sand to end a decline
To end a sight of past pain
Rewrite the warnings and plant a new sign
Ignore the whole storm as you walk in the centre of the eye
Havoc wreaked as all around turns to ash with time
Death losing leverage as six-foot ditches become common sight
Wise folk run to avoid the ripping edge of the storm’s arching reach
You see not the fear but feel the will to fight
All fails in the blink of a lightning bolt from the blackened sky
You stand amongst electric grave stones and bathe in the dark
Others running but you laugh in tune with the swinging of deaths scythe
Till you see in the mirror what really makes the storm swirl
Ands its all that has become second nature to the excuse you call been alive
Not even a shiver of fear as it tells you clear in the midst of a swan like dive
Just what kind of a creature you have become
The rhythmic chaos with which every fibre of your words rhyme
That pain of knowing that despite sweet lies it isn’t over
As looking back you see an endless path marked by lines in the sand

Sleep; Denied

Death tickling the ivory’s

The devil serving drinks

A demon hitting on an angel

Her wings pushing him away

A saint drinking straight from the bottle

As I try to get some sleep

But the party keeping me awake

The one in my head

Always waits for my head to hit the pillow

And now I’m writing gibberish

When all I want to do is close my eyes

And get some much needed rest

Bad Advisory Warning!

They said she was bad news
The noose like neckless and buckle heavy shoes
Lesbian bikers would give her a respectful nod
Faffy types commented her language was too crude
They said she was a demon
The preacher when seeing her walk by sprung to sermon

I said ‘I like you dress’
She said ‘say that again and your dead’
And now when they say she is bad news
I show them the wedding ring and say
“I’ll take that bitch from hell over your dumb advice anyday”

Death’s flower, Life’s petals

Withered stems of weathered roses
Petals bleak and colour fading
Flowers dying and rot ascending
A black rose stands in endless failing
The harbinger of the impossible
In a garden of corruptions making
A symbol of both life and death
But which path proven?
Without an answer’s reveal
The confusion unending

Reflections on a Battle unwanted

A wall against his back
A war facing where he stands
A weapon of unholy force his only recourse

A hand on his shoulder
A voice to say he can rest
A release from his battle

As someone else takes up the fight
A better candidate to carry the cause
And create victory where he would have made it worse