Arms raised in face of love’s expectant, failed hopes,
reaching for the bones of lost relationship, striving
to connect through clouds of deep misunderstanding;
confusion in a fog does tease at broken history; chokes.
Leaping through the thoughts and fears which huddle, hide,
like dry leaves in a teacup, fate does seek to read,
once drowned in liquid calm devotion, now consumed;
on the air the whispers come of you, and fallen pride.
Dreams like splintered slate are strewn upon mind’s roof,
and reason stumbles on through frozen, raging sleep,
nurturing roots of bitter weeds that logic’s gutters hold;
grief’s hollow stare is fixed, on vision’s early harvest – truth.
Time rushes, drenching rains through all the years we shared,
floods deep the planet, where once we were complete,
those cities of belief now unusable, hidden in suffocated days;
damp dust creeps on eternal; memory’s ageing wicker unprepared.
How slack became the tightly woven canes of all our hopes,
the twist and fold of where we once could safely, surely sit,
feathers of certainty, dropped in silence, like a dying swan;
great bird of passion quiet at last and our tryst full revoked.
Two breaths once held together, in safe and soulful store,
alive like petals, crouching, cradled on some fragrant rose,
bells of future used as synchronistic tunes to sing us on;
now each gentle bosom beats alone – love gone, it is no more.
Laurie: arms failed bones
Priti: clouds leaping fog
Annell: teacup broken history
Jules: calm devotion drowned
Laurie 2: air whispers you
Hannah: slate stumbles splintered
Nicole: roots sleep frozen
Emangster: gutters stare rushes
Amy: harvest unusable planet
Irene: dust wicker slack
Abby: fold swan Cities
De: petals breaths quiet
Debi: store time alive
Sara: tunes used bells
Marian: gentle bosom alone