Jesień

It fluttered down slowly,
Palming the currents,
All colour leeched
By the harsh cold winds
Of the settling winter.

It rested on the ground,
Soon to be dissolved
Into bleak nothings;
To be trod upon
By the quick soles.

Many a moon phase
Steadily crept on by,
The stark barrenness
Rising into the dark,
Watching, waiting.

Storm

The dark grey clouds, she saw
Creeping in, ever thickening.
She slowly closed her eyes,
Exhaling her frustration
And willing the grey away.
She opened her eyes calmly,

The skies were an ominous black;
The colour of ravens.
The bearers of omens.

Embracing herself, she blinked
Rapidly; her head twitched
slowly, then vigorously.
An escaped loon, some might think
She cared not. She must rid herself;
These vapours she would cast away.

Else her soul would be consumed;
Such as maggots on dead flesh.
Such as rats amidst a midden.

Fists clenched, she whimpered
For she felt the drops on her skin,
Nor could her ears be plugged.
She cried out, feeling the sting
As acid rain, those drops fell;
Blistering the pockmarked skin.

In despair, Heavenward she looked
And there beheld a Brilliance
So pure and white.

She could see the other side. 

Sweet Peace

That gentle swish,
An unseen shackle
Melting softly out.
Sweet, sweet peace
Seeping inside;
That freedom,
So desperate
Was I then,
Now my own.

Sweet, sweet peace:
Unfathomable.
Beautiful.
Transcendent.

Divine. 

Shrouds

You cloak yourself in grey shrouds
Yet what lies beyond is far purer;
All intent on smiles in and around
Yet you're rarely really full of it.

My heart is proud when I watch you
Heavy when I can't bring it to you;
Lost years ago and still lost now
Perhaps never to be found again...

Unless that little picket is broken
And you leap across, arms open;
To embrace what lies before you
And to open your heart and believe

That those shrouds are not for you.
They don't belong on you, not ever;
The Red cloak makes everything new
And you have been made worthy

Of the highest Honour.

Murmur

A soft swish of the tongue
That slip to the next rung;
This social art so ancient
Innate in the omniscient.

Gestures, as slight be they,
Slight more than you say.
A bond not so strong
Just will not last long;

With these murmurs.

Cracks

Brick and mortar but also gold and clay
All strewn around like a child's after-play
The labouring builder was quite worn
But sought to fulfil all she had sworn;
But only in vain.

The foundation was quite well hidden
For all she knew, it might've been midden.
Crucial detail neglected, a layer arose
Followed by another, before her repose.
But only in vain.

The wall rose higher day by day
Flies flickered and she ceased to pray.
They laid eggs in the every single crack
The maggot hatchlings left a slimy track
Not really in vain.

They slid into the widening cracks
The builder struggled to see what it lacks
A cloud of confusion sidled through
She tried but failed to see it true,
Was it all in vain?

She strove to keep building, on and on
Stormy clouds swirl, she was withdrawn;
Fight after fight, she had refused to lose
But what if that is not what God chose?
Was it all in vain?

She knew not for the wall trembled mightily.
The maggots she had not killed brutally,
Grew in size with time, the crevices wider
Deathly maggots formed a loud divider:
Perhaps it is in vain.

But is it?

The Point

It burns so strong,

That vile, icy fear

Gushing to my head;

Insanity breaks loose.

Maniacal ideas float,

Wrestling each other

Fierce and striking. 

Nonsensical trash

Clouding out the sun

The centre of life;

Choking it sorely. 

Lost in the clouds

Floundering, foggy,

Slipping away, unfelt;

Seeping mud beneath

Murky droplets fall.

Hazy and famished

Stumbling through,

The point so distant.

Will it ever be reached?