A Winter Poem

A Winter Poem

                I stand looking at the small window at the back of the house, a candle yellow hue framed in black. 

I breathe in the freezing air and it feels like the blackness of night as well; the sting of it burning my lungs and bleeding steam as I exhaled. 

You are not there, no one is but I picture you all the same.

                I have to, or go mad in accepting I can’t bring you back.

 I lift my scarf up to cover my face; the faint tenuous fragrance still in the fibres lifts my spirit and closing my eyes I fold into the din and disappear.

                 I have to accept the madness of knowing you have disappeared too. 

They say time heals all wounds but I think it only outruns them.  Time encapsulates the memory so you can only see it as if behind a glass, preserved but no way to get through it.

                I hold my breath and picture you, I have to or it will be like you never existed.

But I see your smile, your soft amber lips and emerald eyes and I so dearly wish I could understand the wordless stories they used to tell me.  I reach out to touch you but I stop myself for if I don’t then it will only remind me you are gone.

I stand looking at the small window at the back of the house and I breathe in the freezing air letting it burn my lungs so I cannot speak.

                I have to or I will go mad with the knowledge I can never say I love you again.

RB).

To Move

To Move

Go forth and bellow for the art of moving men is a simple recipe of blood, fire, metal and stone.  Given no reason at all his seductive mind conjures all the ingredients to produce spontaneous and combustive prejudice against everything in spite of himself.

Whisper into empty shells and let the echo reverberate, sail on the breeze and to the ears of those that have nothing to lose but their passion and so the seed of influence sprouts and feeds their minds and soul for power.

Sit alone with split fingers, molding together reflection and perception into art that transcends time and space to alter tradition and faith with the subtlety of ocean tides.  Cast the net and capture the essence of man’s soul and let eternity either chide the maker or praise his end.

Compassion and hope to heal the dispirited minds and fractured bodies in simple gesture and reassuring tones that teach and multiply efforts ten thousand fold to bleed away sheer existence.

Love yourself unconditionally and in that truth, share it in order that others can understand it and erase barriers hidden by all other senses.