What would I take with me
if you breathed your last tomorrow,
aside from memories, dashed and broken
now upon the storm, driven by despair,
what on Earth would I take
with me
as I searched in vain for you?
A wide open world with a single aim
to witness in the flesh
all that I could in the year
and a day I would allow myself
to exist in mourning, whilst blisters
tore at my back and festering wounds
bubbled and scorched at the edge
No matter
how many times you make me feel
as though I must apologise,
I never hear the slightest murmur of a returned regret
or explanation, just the continued self-justified
rant of the hardly innocent, ever smiling, resolutely angry and bitter soul.
Is it possible
to feel more degraded than the way you made me feel,
the contradiction of the argument, the swallowing
of the pride in which would allow my dog
that barks down my ear, growls with impatience,
that slowly salivates and allows to drip
…
The sound of the Nordic God’s anger thunders in my ears
as Freya plays with seduction a song in which to entrap
My O.K. Internal Haze and give rise to the tricks of the mind.
The Nordic Gods play havoc with the landscape, the boundary
between my vision and the vast sea that was crossed by Freya in search
of someone to take notice of the gentle notes of joy, despair and anguish,
the dominant emotion of love for the guitar she wields with a shy smile.
Her weapon, simpler than the Ax favoured by more aggressive
You stare at my garden and state the sodding obvious that it is full of weeds
Uncontrolled, uninhabited plants that clamber through and undermine the foundation.
I tried cutting them back for you but I instead threw more enthusiastic seeds
In amongst the cobwebs that covers damaged stone and masonry complication.
These webs are personal; they cover the cracks in the paving stone path that leads
From my door to yours, and whilst you keep your side so
Faultless and dazzling, trimmed, ordered and full of flowering beads,