The language of love

Is it hidden?

This body language

which rides up

the hem of skirts and trousers

Is it a smile that stokes the fire

like a poker

is it the emotion of being a joker

a fear of being alone in the dark

no spark to light your way

Is it truth?

or is it fiction?

is it an addiction?

or is it in the scent

of pheromones or the way you gently moan

when you are touched that way?

like alley cats

we spit, bite and snarl

but all the while

we need the language of love

and it speaks through everything we say

but in mystery is still shrouded to this day.

This Love

This love is hard like a crystal

soft like I kissed you

the drop of dew on a rose

I love you more than I supposed

your eyes hold a religion

a candle in the dark

the spark which burns light.

your speech is familiar a voice that speaks

tears fall from eyes down my cheeks

but I want to hold you like gravity

and love you more than avidly

you are my truth

my story which will never be ordinary

you sends shivers down my spine

every time we meet

you are divine

and I can’t retreat

from our divide

Which is a singularity like a soul

which when it rises it burns out of control.

The silence before a storm

We are waiting in the voiceless shadow

Padded cells inside the gallows

angels chained inside a soul

legion my man is out of control

dripping darkness of the void

whisper your name before it’s destroyed

life’s a curtain lost not deployed

life’s uncertain it’s cadence a heart beat

ghosts and devils retreat

in the violence of your stare

in the glowing embers of a fires glare

in the stabbing tenderness of an aching heart

beats a rhythm that no one can tell from the start

but the storm is brewing in the sky

like the reapers blade in the shade

the song bird cries

but all I am left with is sighs

The fabric of our being

Two eyes that see

One heart that feels

Is the soul real?

Or do we have an existential crisis?

in the very fabric of our being

I suppose that’s the cost of dreaming.

Reality is stranger than fiction

it is my addiction

to believe in both dreams and reality

but both are restrictive

because both our limited to habits and thoughts

and we are caught

in their spiders web.

Charity

I am me and you are you

but there for grace of god, go you or I

sleeping rough on the streets

one job loss away

or one benefit sanction

how can you think you are better

than your good luck

born into the right family

having the right salary

to keep your head above water

I caught you cursing those who claim

the poor and disabled

we need to give them a ladder to climb

out of their circumstances

or is it another life to be thrown away

with no more chances.

These are the days

There are days when we toy with innocence

there are days when wear despair as our clothes

days when we truly open our eyes

days when we want to keep them closed.

Days when we have to restrain the pain from our hearts

and there are days when that pain departs.

Days when we feel loved in the morning when we wake

and days when we feel so far away from that love

that we just have to hold on and take the love we are given.

Days when we pretend to be free

and days when we really do hold the key

to doors unopened before.

Days when we feel we can take on the world

and days where we hide in the corner.

Days when we appreciate the flowers and fauna

when we see the beauty of a drop of dew on a rose

and see a new religion being formed

a new baby being born.

Days change what we think and who we are

days where we travel near and days we travel far

drink in the moments and savour the day

because its drifting away

and its all we have!