Cry to me the tears of a violin, or scold me with the hum of a cello. When lost in the fears of this mortal skin, cry to me the tears of a violin to quell all the shouts that echo within. Should ego become my new bedfellow: cry to me the tears of a violin, or scold me with the hum of a cello.
Dangled cold toes under hot taps Weary bones that cry to collapse. With night she is blessed with peaceful request that she rest in it's traps. When awoken, as sun shines brightly, the rattled chest clenches tightly. Warmed by a shiver death doth order her: deliver politely.
Soon you will be washed upon the sands of time as a memory left on the tongue tips of the angels left behind. Your physical form will be gradually reborn from the glistening teardrops we’ll cry in chorus as your body is bid to the eternal dust. You’ll slip into the arms of family through the gap of our knowing and feeling; welcomed and soothed by the same loving presence you too once grieved. All the fear you feel in the shallows of this vast ocean will no longer matter as you begin to drift between the folding waves of a final sleep. Goodbyes won’t be whispered into the sea, but the thickening mist will nod, on my behalf, that we’ll meet again someday.
Knotted tightly in my psyche is a feral call: a plea to return to an unvisited place where unfamiliar arms can bring rest. Routine saps the life from my soul - within safety it writhes in silent agony Lacking nourishment unknown - unnamed. Hunger looks inward to survive famine. Ravenous claws stripping only prime cuts - psychological filet, served bloody and rare. I will be the last to walk away from me. The world unrecognisably cold and damp under the footsteps of a more fulfilling life
Stumble and dive we just turned five - each of us hold a balloon. Run down the hall stumble and fall - scraping our knees before noon. Slide on some socks build static shocks - zapping each other with grins. Act like a brat slide on the mat Carpet burn stings on our shins. Wearing our shoes nothing to loose we call out our parents bluffs We ruin the lawn now wearing a yawn - our memories sketched in shoe scuffs
The day and his hunger filled son, feast on the night's decay. Dark rituals are spun as famine comes to play. The night and her valiant daughter, stand facing dimmer light. O' sweet moon lit slaughter may the morn end day's rite.
Bent toes cling to the surface that might fall. Do I stand upon the ground or the wall? Swaying in gentle breeze I brace to plummet fast, but land with grace if this dream deems me unworthy. Clouds stream with torrential echoes of doubt that nourish my inner progressions drought. The grip of untrodden steps fails - I wait to land upon the shales But fall upward into the stars. Free floating among the weightless moonlight, I look below with more pleasant hindsight. I was bound in scared appeasement - Now fear suffers a bereavement as I cross into my own light.
Evening sea washed aboard a tired man and his sword. I didn't ask his name. He didn't ask the same. He just stared blank at me then fell back to the sea.
Lift me up if I fall drunk on life's alcohol. I stumble, maybe trip, mentally lose my grip. Happy smile; blinding grin between fast sips of gin. Swallowed whole; empty cup. Love, my life: Lift me up.
nature n u r t u r e s man
man f e a r s death
death c h a s e s life
man e x p l o i t s nature
life k i l l s man
nature r e c e i v e s man
death l o v e s nature
The Poet Armistead 