Posted tagged ‘Failing’

Before the Rainbow

July 15, 2010

It’s raining,

And I have become one with the grime that splashes

as the filthy sky-juice mixes with the dirt that lays on the streets that I walk

Every day.

The more it rains,

The grimier I become,

The more of me that is taken over by the sky-juice /dirt mix,

The more of me I lose to the streets that I walk

Every day,

The less me I become.

And as it rains,

And the skies spit down in jest,

Lightning shining over and over again,

Glorifying my decay

Like a thorny crown resting on my new lox

Causing blood and sweat to drip from my temple,

As thunder strikes out bringing screams from mouths,

I feel myself eroding,

Becoming less me each day,

Until all I remain to be is that mix…

…,

…,

…,

…The dirt of the streets that I walk every day and the filthy sky-juice that fell and created me as grime

And slowly washed me away

Into sewers and blocked drains.

Unrecognizable now,

It’s raining

And I have become one with the grime that lays on the streets I walk

Every day.

No longer me,

No longer human,

No longer reachable

Not by friend nor foe,

Not by Mrs Love or Mistress Lust

Even Dr Anger must wait at Lucifer’s right hand being stroked and held back,

So forgive me if I don’t answer when you call me by my name,

‘Cos I am no longer here.

© Simon D Bucknor

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Deep Thoughts, Too Late

May 24, 2010

The dirt must have been dry at some point,

Or they wouldn’t have been able to dig the grave,

Wouldn’t it have slid right back in?

Rolled like a toppling bus on a sloped hillside,

Delivering it’s passengers to their final destination

With or without pressing their Oyster card against the electronic reader,

Thoughts thunder, reverberating against the lined wood surroundings.

I went with a fight and still I fight now,

I want to wake up.

I only wanted to sleep for one night,

But time passed and arrived at my bedside,

My rage unbridled now my soul is on its way away,

I am alive only with anger, livid with my hands, with all of me,

But above all my gormless heart that refuses silence and peace.

A man sat in pain until he could no longer resist the urge to change his situation. He wanted rest, needed rest, craved rest.

He took a sleeping pill, it didnt work.

He took a sleeping pill, it didnt work.

He took a sleeping pill, it didnt work.

He took a sleeping pill, it didnt work.

Soon the pill bottle lay empty, but for the cotton wool.

Sleep came, the pain eased, then came the realisation that death had been invited and had arrived.

© Simon Bucknor

Staring Out To Sea

February 25, 2010

I exist on an island,

Standing on the shore staring out to sea.

My gaze yearns to excite,

With the sight of an exit in which my heart’s hopes can believe.

Who can I run to?

Where can I turn?

Who can withstand the heat?

Feels like my attempts cause all bridges to spontaneously burn.

Where can I go,

To get what I need?

How can I fool my tongue,

So it’s unparalleled power it believes?

Where can I be heard?

Where can I be helped?

Who can I really run to?

‘Cos my story I’m desperate to tell.

Whose ears work the best?

Who’s linked their ears to a caring heart?

Where can I go to mend myself?

Can I battle the feeling that it’s too late to start?

I’ve tried so many times,

I reach out but see only my own hand

Who’s going to be there to meet me?

When I step off my insular island

I cannot continue to try and fail,

To speak into ears that don’t show they hear,

To reach out and find that still no one’s there,

Increasingly feeling that no one truly cares.

But I will remain set on my question mark and be led by my eyes,

Their movement I feel within me and without, they’re still searching,

My heart and head redundant, tired, spent

Somewhere there must be a place where my hurt can find the beginning of its end.

When I find that person, when I find that place,

When I find that moment, that feeling, that no pain can chase away,

This Island that I stand on the shore of will be an immediate fading memory,

And I will raise my sails, ride the waves and enjoy the prevailing winds of change.

© Simon Bucknor