Ruby ribbons of rich black syrup,
Dripping, slipping to water’s edge,
To sink, and swell, bludgeoning out.
A ripple, a fractal, crossing clear glass,
A chant of words, a spell, a token,
This ancient ritual that runs so deep,
Skimming past bones, rushing through veins,
Sinking, deep, into eternal abyss.
The sap of life, enriched with garnets,
Emeralds, sapphires, or onyx in the end,
These precious treasures we treasure such so,
For without them, most surely, perish, would we.
Gemstones enwrought with crystalline blessing,
A perfect sphere in a honeycomb nest,
With twisted folds, burnished gold, sacred charms of old.
Encased like amber, a moment of time,
Wondrous work, a miracle of craft,
Beauty that forever lasts, past remnants, preserved as in glass.
Malevolent spirits, curses, fae haunts,
Harm not that soul, whom enlightenment gifts,
A light in the shadows, shimmering starlight, shines starbright,
Pentagon protection against all that is evil,
As waves crash over, my vision grows dark,
A centre of power, a golden flower, in my darkest hour,
I pray, keep me strong, keep me safe, bring me home.
Iron-wrought tracks of western times,
That run to the distance, there sunset shines.
Indian breezes of an ancient land,
That whisper their secrets, quiet and grand.
Freedom to leap, to shriek, to fly,
From the dusty strewn plains, to the deep blue sky.
Running, racing, like equestrian ghosts,
But wheels instead, that turn, that coast.
The iron lines rattle, they shiver and shake,
Before, and then again, the bull’s wide wake.
This Western World, the one left wild,
Holds memories etched, from adult to child.
A time, a place, another existence,
Left even behind, steel resistance.
Sitting at my classroom desk I hear,
Scrabbling of pens, swift and quick,
Sighing, out through the window’s glass,
The teacher marking with a flick, flick, flick,
Hushed voices as students help each other,
Yelling next door and giggles that follow,
Shouts outside as kids chase the plover,
And chatting heard through walls so hollow.
Sitting at my classroom desk I hear,
Sounds that won’t ever change, I fear.
Silver be the morning dew,
Heralding a day anew,
Silver be the wolf of tundra,
Flashes of fur as bolts of thunder,
Silver be the shooting star,
Which lights the night from afar,
Silver be the silken threads,
Which weave as one and comfort our heads,
Silver be the diamonds shine,
The most majestic, most sublime,
Silver be my Claddagh ring,
Indeed it be a precious thing
Bitter cold that darkness heralds,
Trapped in soot till fire burns ash.
White, light, brilliant and fresh,
A canvas ready to paint with life:
Dashing, dusting my trail with sugar,
Sweet relish from a stifling summer.
Energy contained released in laughter,
Kicking and crafting and skating away.
Sherbet bullets that rain down sparkling,
Icy mouths, river fresh, minted green.
Lamington trees that rustle with crystals,
And slippery scales trodden below.
Come join me in my diamond place,
Leave no white free to dim to grey.
Smell it, taste it, touch it,
The senses’ sight and sound,
Used so very little, badly,
This place, the city, sadly
I need to escape, this, the humdrum life,
Be encompassed by the nature,
Feel leaves crunching underfoot,
Jump the knots of trailing root.
Explore the caverns and hike the trails,
Swing from branches, the vine and ivy,
Climb sky high and fall to the sea,
Splash! And then, swim up to breathe.
Stormy winds encompass me,
Upon towers tall and built of stone,
Lighting, Crack! Sky split in seams,
Senses that call to me, in my dreams.
Perhaps I expect, what cannot be given,
Perhaps I crave the impossible,
But falling, falling, ever down,
A dream to never touch the ground.
Darkness, coiled and waiting to spring,
Held deep inside my heart.
Words scream to gush forth in fiery tones,
But no sound they will be hearing.
Alone I cry, alone in pain, alone despair,
My pretense serves only cruel purpose,
How much further can I fall? And yet,
There is no chance to regain.
I find myself in his cursed lieu,
Harder and harder to stay alive,
Now that all my hopes are shattered,
Dreams that shan’t ever be true.
I beg to stop but time is bitter cruel,
Dragged am I across ravaged fields,
By a sharpened hook along a jagged line,
A trail of blood from that dark red pool.
Forgive me, my friend for what I have done,
But understand and know me by this,
Survived I may and stayed alive,
But in no small way have I won.
