We all rest on cheap street,
Some convulse in wasted anger
Red eyes shot at the rain,
Those that succeed do so in silence.
The brave seek the jungle,
And move like they were born
To the scorn of the ones
Who refuse to believe the street exists.
Red wine rain on New Year’s day,
The first bell and the street turns crimson.
Catch what you can, they last.
Every second is a treasured firefly
In delicate motion, circling in
The glory of the easy wind.
An undimmed light in the
Open night, unbound and listless
Like the dance of existence,
Both un-coordinated and in tune
Like the sudden burst of life
Into a flower newly bloomed.
The streets are cold, wet, and unforgiving.
The suffering eyes of no named men
Stare up at the passive walker listening
To the rhythm of his footsteps.
One working girl works the married man
Behind the trash and the wire fence
Between the crumbling slums.
The moon seems as frail as a Robin’s bone,
If the walker caught it, it would break
And crumble and be taken in the passing
Trail of unclean air.
Like a deplorable trail of smoke
From the final cigarette of a bum
Who had it all and then lost it all,
You fade into the air and are forgotten.
Your body falls through shadows
Like hollow bones in a grave,
But you are lost, drunk and unfeeling
And you let the ether claim you.
Then like a lover expectant
Lying on an unmade bed with red sheets,
You try to sleep but your mind is in oil
And your eyes see angels.
You never woke, you never slept.
Like a cut out headline you imprint then decay,
Leaving only remnants of a burnt page
Dancing in the lost space of a man’s mind.
Champagne, no name, never to age,
Your eyes say they have seen it all
But you shiver at the sight of the poor
And your feet bleed as you dance.
Do not fool with the glitterati of the city.
This world is not as cold
As its endless war,
That festers like a black heart
Below its surface.
Its people are not content
With fighting for the heart
To continue beating.
Instead, the exploding star
Like a substitute sunrise
That encapsulates the consciousness
Shared between us paints
The volatile sky yellow,
So that even in winter the hidden figures
Cannot hide their games.
Yet we abide in the false knowledge
That to be apart is to survive.
People wander the streets
Waiting for a purpose to guide them.
They keep their eyes to the ground
With everyone passing by.
The sea turns to royal red
Under a high cliff covered with green,
The fire of the divine torches the sky
And time stops to breathe.
Those with compassion cried
As they joined the thieves in their game.
And kings will kneel with their subjects
When they recognise that we’re all the same.
A watcher on the shore stays
To watch the ashen winds circle and fly.
Ember rains pour like open veins
Or like the tears that the innocent cry.
Their money can’t halt their end
Caught in a tempest that will never rest
We joined hands like we thought we should
And gave in to the final test.
In paradise lay a serene and empty form
With eyes closed and clothes left torn,
That sweet birds sang to through the day
For in Eden did his body stay.
A myriad of flowers grew in his open hand
And autumn leaves like fallen dryads land
Upon this body now cold and alone
For in Eden he died unknown.
Nothing of heart or feeling remains
Under the first born sun or the eternal rain.
This child was born only to die
For in Eden did his body lie.
“There’s no magic money tree”
Unless you are the DUP;
No more money for nurses jobs
but just enough for the Tory mob.
Anything else is unpatriotic.
*I don’t usually write political stuff but…COME ON!*
We are Salem’s fools
Fearful and hollow,
We are cruel
And born to follow.
Our eyes are bright
And our devils die screaming.
Our village unbound and
Our vision blind,
Our victims are found
To be our kind.
It is too late, for their blood
Stains our hands
And we cry to ourselves at night.
Yet we are still sure we are right.