Thursday, 7 November 2013


Its been long enough.
Though unnatural, dizzying ebb and flow remain.

And still, a swirling darkness 
sinks stone weight into my chest.
Hard to breathe,
A quiet craziness defines all life in light or shade.

All at sea,
every passing strobe of this lighthouse pulses pain,
Despairing in its blackness,
dissolving in its beam,
Between an ocean of mistakes
and our earth of haunted potential.

I can hear the surf against the rocks,
The taunting waves shaving a jagged, unstable shore:

'I'm Sorry.
        I need you.
 I'm Sorry.
        I love you.'

Other times,
Like ghosts,
We float with easy charm through corridors of memory,
Hands clasped together against the fog,

In scenes of PURE LOVE,
Where no one else exists,
Lost in our vaporized imaginations,
In time where none else can sail:

Just you and I,
The world atomised,
under our spell,
I strain my eyes to see in your perfect, Arctic starlight.

But always,
At morning, I wake,
And for one second,
I live:
For then we are still 'us'
And this ghost ship still sails North.


So with this ship,
I anchor myself,
though all at sea is lost.

For you are the Morning Star,
A direction home,
My only love.
Always in my sky,
Though much too far away.

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