Chest pains spoked wheels splayed
spooked reins horse bolting bolted to blame, blood letting pulled back black blade, only resetting to restart the bleeding again Spikes poking through fragile skin invoking an imagined maelstrom a stormy whirlwind aching to return back to anything apart from this terminal maddening Making something, take something away from him erasing stains on a tarpaulin burned by chilled flames, raking the coals away again embers of remembering, trained to turn away from redemption again But there is no such thing as redemption my friend Sanitised sun baked, bleached white arrayed days, stark sliding nights sliding by, hours grinding inching from sigh to sigh, snake minutes coiled eyes blinking as time snails by Stare at the wall and feel the anxiety creep in. Wonder if maybe you'll give in? Throw the towel in? But an old lion finally growls inside, a singed paw shrouds a tired mind. Not this time my child, this hour is mine.
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Chinese whispers
Changed chastening ideas Passed around from ear to ear Apeing dangerous ideals, like Reimagining interiors and Beliefs Interned and interrogated Like beetles stuck in trees. Trying to get out from the inside. Hiding from preying eyes Eyeing up the prize Of realising that it's ok To even consider pride. Consider prizing open the outside to Peer at the inside. Instead dreaming of the inner child that died. Come to life, try to smile. A terrible puzzle but there the answer lies, enshrouded Mummified. But at least I tried. I tried. bumble bee dreams bounce wings beat beat
hum drum dumb dreams complete draining days bumbling alone or being swept off your feet drained flowers, exhausted depleted stems grainy pictures of women, mums and daughters holding hands with boys, brothers, fathers hoping to stumble into a warm flower hug bumble alone from seed to seed, tumbling down icy ravines into the recent deceased memories dreary scenes dragged out of brain cells replaying the same old stories A glimpse of heartfelt wonder, holding hands on a sofa handing over to harmful overtones overt sabotage staging yet another rubble strewn diorama denying the bumble bee the chance to recover a tragedy as every bumble bee is to discover |
by Paul Sinclair
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November 2020
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