I’m in your arms but i’m thinking of her. Whatever this was has left my heart and I don’t even care. You kiss me, tell me you need me but it’s not your skin I crave. We lie here naked, but in her memory I bathe.
Tag Archives: Creative writing
Ill fated energy
In the aroma of a lilac scented garden a manic majestic wonder explodes. In the choirs chorus I leap over sanities threshold. Dancing with spirits, they permit to this safety of euphoria. Though an ill fated energy conflicted in dysphoria. Toxic venom of pain, coursing to the brain. The demon’s curse glossed over by anContinue reading “Ill fated energy”
The word love
You said the word love. the way it was now never to return. My heart parried, will my frailty let it all burn. Can the two commit? I scream my heart into the heavens. The Lord knows I’m a hypocrite. I would surely cry, if we waved goodbye. At least the thought of you andContinue reading “The word love”
Little kicks inside her
As we watch the birch logs burn, little kicks inside her, excitement strikes! Imagine I hadn’t have been there, no looks from the bandstand, smiles in the park. Fire light and little kicks, emblems of hope in the dark. Aspirations rise with the smoke, the heir to my words until his eminence bespoke.
Shadows
The music stops, and I feel the cold. Love hacked and extracted. Can the soul save itself? As they fight for my last breath? Pulling me back to the shadow world, where dead hearts can’t bleed. Moons don’t reflect from seas, and on the vulnerable, the shadows feed.
Upon your art
Lift me high with those loving hands, that chiselled my passionate heart. Lift me high above all creation, and let me gaze, upon your art.
A shout of creation
Pen, paper, rocking chair and a match, It’s time to create inspiration to catch. Like a river it’s flowing what’s deep within bursts out, Like a thief for his life, from the gallows, I shout.
Cretian air
Her hair waved in the wind with the red ensign. The waves elated like a soul with rhyme. It was warm, dusk closer to night. Poets time, when angels visit to help bards write. Aside of me and her, and the warm Cretian air.
we touch the unseen
In these peculiar times I realise every action counts, as this wave in me mounts and mounts. It’s unclear to see what’s rising with the sun from over the horizon, nor what to me you even mean. But I do know together ‘we touch the unseen’.
Thoughts in her Covid
She bowed to the crown of this viral pneumonia, she thought on chinese doctors in chinese labs, on Wuhan city on 5g masts. The medical scales of the pangolin embroil, the bat in the pot not quite at the boil, she is dead the thesis not, more to this truth we know not.
Smith Shine Poetry 