Igneous

The heart stone is solid,

never fading.

Even in grey light

the complex shadows within

can always be summoned by the wielder

for reassurance,

showing every part of the spectrum

until calm has been restored.

3am

It’s 3am and there’s a glow in the room –

or rather, there isn’t. Not tonight.

Tonight there are shadows, there are whispers,

hums through the house

bringing out the dust from the floorboards.

It’s the restlessness of emptiness,

the hours wondering when there will be movement,

when that glow will return

to lie beside you and sing slumber into your cells.

You wonder if you should catch it next time,

and propose it stay and watch over you

not for hours, but years

in return for you actively recharging

to hold back the dark.

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Shock Waves

My body charges, electric triggers,

kinetic activity without consciousness.

A way to handle it all, a dance

both natural and strange. Magic to me,

psychotic to others, turning, winding, spinning.

 

Should I stop? Can I stop?

 

The energy might come out

as fire or lightning

if I force myself to slow.

Sycamore

I remember those seeds that used to spin as they fell

catching them in my open palm

and throwing them up again, enchanted by kinetics.

I would liken myself to those seeds, hold out my arms

and spin until the world came to match

the rush of input driving through my synapses.

Because rarely did those sounds, those scents

those constantly moving bodies jostling, jeering,

crashing against me

make sense until my speed matched them.

And if I fell, it didn’t matter.

The ground was always there to catch me,

soft grass cupping my cheek.

Tales by the hearth

The fire crackles in the grate,

shadows dancing with smoke tendrils as she reads

aloud, cloaked figures sneaking through her voice

to my wondering ears

as I cling to the embroidered arm of her chair.

 

The ritual nightly, yet never dull.

I play with the bobble on her slippers as she pauses to sip

Lady Grey from her fine china cup

then places it back on the saucer.

 

Resuming her place as though no pause had been taken

she leads me into the night

to meet the King of Dreams.

 

When I wake, the fire is dead

and her chair is cold,

its colours faded.

Destabilise

I sit at the side of the hill, and watch the people below.

The grass knows me so well

it encourages my skin to take root;

I’m set back, unnoticed.

 

I can breathe for myself.

 

The hill vanishes.

My backside hits

the concrete

hard.

 

My reflection shows a put-out woman.

My heart encloses the child,

overwhelmed by the rushing, raging world.

 

It beats.

Instructions

Look into my eyes,

nowhere else, just my eyes.

Fall onto the path of my irises and fall

into the darkness of my pupils.

Find your solace there.

Find your comfort.

Find you, as you are to me.

Step into the mirror and go back to yourself.

How do you feel?

Gripped

It’s in the touch that we can find ourselves,

find our solid state once more

and stop the wisps of identity

being sucked away.

 

Whether it’s a switch

flicked back and forth,

or the feel of a friend’s hand,

it can bring us back.

 

Yet what if you’re barred from doing so?

What if the search lights come on

and leach away your freedom?

What then?

 

Do we find another means,

or do we let

ourselves drift away, voices and thoughts

silenced forever?

Cosy Armchair

You say my laughter is infectious, but I say

yours is too.

And when that childish excitement fills your eyes

when you’ve spotted something

from your treasure chest of interests,

my heart is filled with your delight.

And I know,

I know

you’re the one.

Alike in our passion, we express ourselves

plainly to each other,

and subtly to everyone else.

We have no embarrassment,

we simply are.

There’s no denying it,

we can’t avoid being us.

Happiness is just a crinkle of the eyes away at all times.

Winded

Life can wind you even when you’re already struggling to breathe.

A sour taint that has you reaching for the super glue

to try and stick yourself back together,

though at first you hesitate, the thought that this is your fault

and not just something that’s been hiding in secret for a long time

waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike

staying your hand.

 

But the breath you’re seeking will return and fill your lungs to full capacity

with fresh, clean air

and not the toxic fumes you’ve been inhaling for so long.

Your beaten self will revive and flourish

in ways you never knew it could.

You just need time.