The story will die with us

The story you’ve kept secret all these years
Dies with you
Caught on the tongue
Stung on your heart
Like a bee
I talk to myself
All I am left with a voice and story I can’t say
I pray I will meet you to talk to you in person
but our fears have worsened
You are a part of me that never goes away
It is our story that sticks in my throat
Like a bone
I am cold and alone
naked without the story we fashioned
Ashened and sack clothed
In my jaws of justice
I can’t say how I feel
I kneel at the gates of heaven
or hades
hoping that the trees will shade me
I talk to their branches and leaves
but does any one truly believe?
I was a messenger once
Cursed to talk of love
But never know
What it means
Even in my dreams
I cannot grasp a sense of success
if my story’s true
Then the colours of the rainbow belong to me and you
and I am your guardian.

Lament of the sparrowman

In a down and out town
Lives a man not occupied enough to be a clown
the jokes on him
and the joke wears thin
living in the past
cast in the jaws of hell that last
and captures all his virtues narrowed
by fate in acting up too late he is a sparrow
locked in a cage
Mindless and in a unconscious rage
he may tweet on Twitter
and he has a lot to witter
on about
but his mind is full of doubt
and opportunities don’t come often
to soften
the blows which rain down from people with agendas
who will take advantage of misadventure
and misfortune
he is a drunken loon
not by alcohol but by the moon
insanity is casting aspersions
and his friends leave and desert him
he yearns like the sparrow to fly free
but he hasn’t got heaven’s key
medical sedatives don’t inspire visions
What he needs is a decision
to break with the past.

Borrowed earth

In the dark discarded night
When you wish you still had all your fight
You rest on a tear stained pillow
Outside your house the weeping willow
Kisses the river bed
Shedding it leaves
To those who still believe
In the magic of Mother Nature
We are caught in the rapture
Of our own dreams
Which filled our lives with polluted streams
We are jet black and hollow without nature
We are filled with jet black sorrow for our children’s children
Who cry for the earth which was borrowed and lent
and never meant to be spoiled
By our digital dreams.

I dream of death

This came from a prompt from one of my classmates in creative writing I rewrote it though at home.

I have a secret nobody knows
When I dream of someone who dies
It comes true
What they don’t know is my fathers called Death
He lets them take their final breath
In some cases its a relief
To leave this tortuous life
End pain wracked old age
But I don’t like people to leave early before their time
I offer a prayer for those people
But sometimes matter just breaks apart
Before its time
I have heart so does my Dad
He knows that death is just a transition
Maybe the body of the dying makes a decision
To come back and learn more as somebody else?
My fathers never given me an answer.
But I hold his secret and mine
and one day it’ll be my time.