Battle scars

The space you left behind
bore the scars
of a vision once so perfect,
knitted up in each
fibre of my very being

and

how slowly you

disintegrated.

Battle Cry

It is not our old we send to war,
those who have lived a thousand lives,
experienced all there is to offer,
soared on wings or plumbed the depths,
taken life by the hand and shook it firmly.
It is our young.
Lives so full of promise,
the potential as of yet unknown.

And still we send them.

Cookies and Cream

Under the punishing pull
of your upper hand,
stuck in this rut,
your face
radiates a smug self satisfied smile;
you thought you had the world
but she struggled to stay afloat,
under your radar,
a girl drip dropping away.
Crumbling.
Wasting.

A lesser God

I think if he had
a mouth
he might say
that I was a
terrible mistake,
the oversight on his part,
the left over pieces
used up
simply because
he hated waste.
If he could explain
would there be
words which have
no grounding
or
absolute absolution?

Boy

Feelings mislaid,

misplaced
outside the circle
of a strangers dream.

The boy

staged perfectly,
one who stood
still,

rooted

lacking courage
in his convictions.

Let there be

There is light
in the
dark.

And all the
emptiness
which encases you
so perfectly
so completely
cannot put it out.

If you
stand
very still
it will find you.

There is hope
in all this darkness.

Girl

Those beautiful girls
s t r e t c h e d o u t
for all to admire.

Clinging
tightly on to
each others hand.

I was paper thin.