At night when light is fast asleep the moon will weep. Its friend, the sun, just steals the fun. Don't cry dear moon, all will be fine - no need to pine, you'll feel the kiss of song and bliss. The sun will rise with tired eyes, to it's surprise the nights cold stings but moon now sings.
The day has too few a sunrise to explore But the innumerous colours are counted In ritual along the distant early skyline anyway. Beyond the principle of merely being, There's the principle of endless sight seeing Fluttering on the delicate iridescent wingtip. Although all sights are born of intrinsic good, Reality requires a respite of recuperation So the sprite may realign it's own energies. Wrapped in nature's most pastoral gifts The sprite feasts on the bounty of true justice: Nourished by the fundamentals of harmony So it may be vibrant in passionate expression. Though delicate to the lowly observing eye, The spirit of the sprite is bodaciously hardy, Fearlessly inspired by the very air it breathes: Time had tested itself, and failed to win battle Against the ethereal protector of land and sea.
A beautifully imperfect creation, Mottled in angst and frustration, Capturing stray drops of sunlight To warm you on the colder nights. The open evening air calls you To gain that moment of solitude Between the sediments of thought Lined and calmed in melodies. You don't absorb or reflect When bathing in the day's light, But refract polychromatic splendour Through your fused shrapnel. Each playing piece considered and Placed within the web of fragments Builds a mosaic of endurance: A tenacious testament of truth, Boldly embraced through fractures And acknowledged reality splinters. The weathered debris of survival Formed you a formidable warrior Encased in your own clast armour: Sharply witted within awareness, Yet dynamically poised, prepared For metamorphic elevation.
We got plastered on the mezzanine. Giving even less shits than before With cheap shots that burnt like kerosene Splitting prescription amphetamine Into servings of six, eight or four, We got plastered on the mezzanine. Supplementing lacking dopamine Pretending we wanted to feel more With cheap shots that burnt like kerosene On the childlike side of something-teen With store rooms of baggage to ignore We got plastered on the mezzanine. Steadily making more of a scene Baiting ourselves to even the score With cheap shots that burnt like kerosene These moments dipped light in sertraline Revisited in flashbacks galore We got plastered on the mezzanine. With cheap shots that burnt like kerosene
Come on in. Tea? Coffee? Ah, coffee, good choice. I'll just top up the cafetiere. Your pictures, Serve you but little justice, You're attraction, Is in the eyes, Not the red reflection. Your mannerisms, Most enticing, And the level of ease, The flow of conversation, Magnificent. Over a coffee, I learned you, Realized your significance, The role you play, In my small life. The options you open, The knowledge you offer. Over a simple coffee, We laughed, Smiled together. Enjoyed the bliss, Of casual conversation
For so long I've formed pain, Held it within my four walls, Within the structure of myself. I learned this to be unhealthy, Destructive to my personality, So I believed expression was key, To let it all flow freely, Unfiltered, from my lips. You encouraged me to talk, I reciprocated such action, Believing you willing to listen, And knowing my ears are open. As I learned to open up, Began to find release, I faced judgement, more pain. You couldn't deal with what I held back. I'll be no fool again, like this, All previously thought progression, Now clearly regression. So I apologize for my blindness. I'll not let the world know my pain, I'll keep my internal anguish, Even if I crumble inside, then out, It must be less than external hate. I'll retreat back to myself, Keep in my bubble, where I'm safe. Never to be scolded again, By a fire that others fuelled. I'll embrace my internal anguish, Understand it as my only companion, Never to be betrayed by tongues, Relaying information untrue, Or turned, or twisted, or even honest. People cannot cope with my pain, So I'll no longer seek advice.
Where does the honest value lie? You measure it with paper, The weight of metal in your pocket, Disregarding the real appraisal. Happiest to assign digits to all things: Interaction: reduced to a number, Friendship: summed up by addition. You see price tags above our heads, Exploitation in our situations, Yet opportunity in our kindness. To give and give freely, Is not possessed in your nature, I'm almost certain of it. You miss the enjoyment of value, When mercenary needs control, To take and take greedily, Is to abuse the true treasures: People
Every time I see you, I see potential, future, I see excellence in all you do. I wish you saw it, I wish you realised. Like the wings of a butterfly, You influence a change in the world, Without you, the world is broken. You offer uniqueness, Something only you give. Your heart is as big as your pain. And you're so much stronger, So much stronger than this. Please.
In an Ivory gown, I waltz, To meet my maker, Or face my ultimate breaker. In the eyes of all those I trust, I see a conspiring plan, To share, universally, the feelings, In their new related form, That originally came from my heart. I vow to be there, In sickness and in health, And betroth myself to life, Imprisonment by betrayal, Regardless of my feelings, Without notice of my honesty, I marry myself to be hated, Suspected by my spouse, Harmed by my home bird. Betrothed to my Betrayal.
We enter the room. Car running in the center, Fuel tank pierced, Petrol dripping. He sits in the driver’s seat, You sit next to him. I find a match, A small piece of wood And with the first I light the second. Wood, unlit end first Pushed under the car. I get in the backseat. I cry, I'm scared. You look back. You nod. Smoke. No flames. No noise. No end. We enter the room. Car running in the center, Fuel take pierced, Petrol dripping. You take my hand Comforting my cries. I nod. He sits in the driver’s seat. You sit in the passenger’s seat. I light a plank of wood, I place it below the car. I sit in the backseat. I wait and wait. I'm crying and crying. You reach back. You give me your hand. You tell me you're sure, That you'll be there, You'll hold my hand to the end. That you've seen it, The cruelty of the world, That it's enough. We wait. No smoke, no fire. No end. We enter the room. Car running in the center, Fuel tank pierced, Petrol dripping. You hold me close. Lead me to the backseat. I sit, crying and broken. You sit beside me, Warm, comforting. You hold me while the pain Escapes through the silent, Distraught, and shattered sobs. He used the wood, To trail, Line, Trace. The petrol, his instrument, The final piece of art. He lights the end. He walks to the car. He sits in the driver’s seat. You stroke my hair as you watch Flames dancing in smaller circles That stop. Too Early. No continuance. No End. We enter the room. Car running in the center, Fuel tank pierced. Petrol dripping. You tell me it's okay. I listen. He takes my hand. He leads me forward. He knows what comes after. You sit in the driver’s seat. He and I trail the petrol. One straight line. We light the end. He sits in the backseat. I sit next to him. Calm, collected. You say nothing. You mean nothing. You show nothing. He holds me in an embrace. Kisses the top of my head. Tightens his grip around me. I know he loves me. You mean nothing in your silence. I look at you, Silently beg for a word, A murmur, a mumble. I ask for your hand. You move. You open the door. I beg you with my tears. You put your leg out. I crumple into him. You leave the car. His grip holds me. I call out your name. He comforts me. You walk away. He wipes every tear. You pause once. I look up. You walk on. He pulls me closer. You leave the room. The fire spreads, Engulfs - Consumes. You close the door. You regret. The car explodes. The flames dominate. He guides me on. He knows this place. He tells me he missed me. I grip his hand. This is it. The End.
The Poet Armistead 