I’m a sinking ship,
Set adrift upon a sea.
A sea of blue…
Blue as a faded tattoo
Of a long forgotten love.
Blue as a lost soul,
Or a fresh broken heart.
Blue as a distant mountain
Bereft of detail,
It’s only purpose to block the view
Of the path’s destination.
Blue as the ice,
That sits within my heart
Since the wind took you –
An ill wind that blew me no good.
It is said; if you wear an ugly face
When the wind changes –
Your face will stay that way.
If the wind changes
While my heart is broken –
Will it stay that way too?
From the west it came
Carrying dust and sandflies.
My skin dried and grit filled my eyes.
I felt I’d never be the same.
This ill wind had blown no good.
To my despair was added discomfort.
Hopes for peace had come up short –
I let myself fall.
Does the sun rise for me,
Or am I rushing to greet it?
Does the moon forget to touch me
As she slips below the horizon,
Or have I simply failed to watch anymore?
Does a friend slight me,
Or do I fail to understand his pain?
Does a relationship turn sour,
Or was there nothing there to begin with?
Does the old soldier sip quietly on a rum
Because he needs the drink,
Or does he salute dead mates?
Is life a construction site,
or a constant reconstruction site?
I’m not sure…
I cut off my hair –
No power did I divest.
No fear walking the tiger’s lair.
Not a head was turned,
As I wander through the rest.
No power the fiend – renounced.
My heart had been tempered –
Still it hammers in my chest,
The loss freshly remembered.
One hand reached out
Reviving only the best.
My heart began to shout –
All doubt washed aside,
My mind held no great contest –
True friends will always abide.
Today the sky is blue,
Somewhere behind the dark clouds.
It’s cleanliness hidden
From my addled mood.
Yet still I hide the scar,
Through the smokescreen provided
By the tiny blue pill.
My friend – my bête noir.
Sip the tea and look to sea.
Behind this wave another forms –
Regardless of the unrelenting shore.
Like me, they just want to be.
Somewhere out there it begins –
And the environment sustains its growth,
Always supporting, sometimes calming.
It rises, tall as a mountain poppy,
Tossing its head in the offshore breeze –
Until dashing itself to pieces
Upon the callous, unforgiving shore…
Hold my hand, I’m cold.