Poetry

Kingdom Crasher

Little demon;

small one loitering in the side alley,

waiting for the merry makers to trip and fall.

Only a second,

and your fingerprints are all over their pies.

Crushed pastry,

you lick the berry juice off and laugh.

This is your hobby, your dream, your job.

You do not see them spying onĀ you,

marking your movements,

tracking your trail.

They are the ones who will see to it

that you fail.

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Poetry

A funny thing, hindsight.

I didn’t know you’d be there for me.

I didn’t know that you’d see the things every one else missed,

help me without thinking,

come to stand beside me when I needed to stay grounded.

 

I didn’t know how much you would help me.

I didn’t know how much I would help you.

 

I didn’t know I’d bring you back to yourself.

I didn’t know I was the only one you’d share your deepest thoughts with,

be the inspiration for the words coming from your heart,

be trusted with your past, present and future.

 

I didn’t know any of this.

But if I could tell my past self it would happen,

I wouldn’t.

I’d stay quiet, and let her experience it all fresh,

gently strolling

hand in hand with you

on this adventure that’s still going.

 

Poetry

Dominoes

We come to it again,

this meeting of stories about futures we’ll never know

because the future we’re making

is far better than those.

But we’re curious, even though

such hypotheses may make us sad,

could we, if we needed, have stayed silent

and not gone mad?

 

If we’d gone through life

as best friends forever,

would you have told me if you’d fallen?

Fallen in the way that you fell for me in this present,

undeniably, inescapably, euphorically

in love.

 

Would I ever have brought myself to tell you?

I might have thought it would ruin our friendship –

that’s what all the other accounts say.

But to deny my feelings is to deny myself of their worth, of yours.

 

I don’t think silence would have sat well with me.

I don’t think she would have done for you, either.

Our entire premise

is that our hearts and wounds are open

for the other to fully see.

Poetry

A Haunting

I see ghosts of footsteps all over my world,

my mind palace

is haunted by them

and the words spoken with every tread.

Stamped into my core

so I can never forget them.

 

The footsteps are all different sizes

and some voices I refuse to listen to.

But there is one I love to recall,

and it is the same one

which leaves new ghosts everyday

with words more energetic and meandering than the last.

 

Every so often, I will etch

a line it has spoken

into my breath cloud,

a reminder to you that what you say

will always stay with me.

Poetry

Trouble and Strife for Seven Days

Right, my love,

let’s put away those pants,

move those bin bags,

tidy up like sturdy worker ants.

 

Come, now, dearest,

pick up your feet,

get that motor in your head going,

you’ve got time this week.

 

Shall we go dancing

under the stars,

waltz time away

and have the night solely ours?

 

Look, my darling,

I know I’ve made a mess,

my dungarees are covered in paint,

but I’ve done my best.

 

Wow, my dear heart!

Did you really make that?

Everyone will love it,

they’ll play it wherever they’re sat!

 

Oh, honeybun,

I just can’t get this bit right,

could you read this passage

and make sure it’s not a terrible fright?

 

Sugarplum, what a week!

Shall we kick back tonight,

watch some films

and then conk out like a light?