The Park - Analysis

'The Park' is a free verse work written in 2013. It is important to consider 'The Park' in context of a particular socio-political climate. In a world racked with terrorism, schisms in churches, a worsening political climate, and threats ranging from climate change to a worsening economy.

In this context, it is clear that the author is showing the various stages of a single lifespan in this poem. Analysed stanza by stanza, the descriptions are clear.

Stanza three, "The child cries... he reaches up into the sky". This is the early stage of any life, where there is a great need to be rescued. The mother figure provides comfort, provides rescue, and then sends the young child on his way again. Such is the beginning of any life.
It is also a part of a lifespan where there is a perceived need for rescue. This may occur at any age, and is characterised by an absolution of personal responsibility and desire for a greater force to be responsible (whether this is a parent, partner, economy, government, or something more exotic). The intent is clear, to be in this state is to be a child, free of responsibility but also unable to engage fully with the world.

Stanza two, "The young girl runs alongside the path... Wishing she could see what the balloon sees". Both a description of youth and an allegory for a consumer-driven culture. The young girl is running along, pulling a balloon filled with helium behind her. Yet even as she is delighted to be running with her balloon, she is also filled with longing for a different perspective.
It is clear that the balloon represents consumerism, that preoccupation with items and objects being dragged along, slowing us as we move through society and through our lives. The desire to see from a different perspective is a clear demonstration of the need for people to move to a post-consumer society, where there is freedom to move as the wind takes us, not encumbered by a desire for more and more possessions and status.

Stanzas four and five are closely related, both providing an example of someone who has isolated themselves from the rest of society. "The woman sits under a tree... Immersed in her book". It becomes apparent that this woman represents a time in the life when there is a desire and need for solitude, often this is the case when a person first moves out of the 'nest' of their parent's home and support. "The lovers relax... To themselves they are alone" is another clear example of the desire for solitude, even if it is with another person. In this case, the life stage demonstrated is the first relationship where only the partner matters, and all else can be safely ignored. While it may or may not be the case that it is safe to ignore all else, both of these stanzas represent the desire for solitude.

Stanza six takes solitude to the logical conclusion. "The dog runs... Not heeding distant shouts... Freedom, for a moment". The quest for freedom may be achieved for a moment, but the consequences, the "distant shouts", may be severe when they must be faced. In life, regardless of aims or achievements, there is no true freedom without consequence.

Stanza seven describes the end of a lifespan, as well as a situation in life where there is no progress. "The old women laugh... Sharing stories of youth... Only existing in memories". While the women are sharing stories, over and over again, they are not creating any new stories or memories. This clearly describes the scenario of someone who is stuck in their life, whether career, relationship, or another measure, unable to progress and only capable of repeating the same stories over and over again.

Throughout this analysis the old man has been ignored so far. The old man appears in stanza one with "The old man sits and smiles... Throwing bread to the ducks" and in stanza eight "The old man sits and smiles... sharing secrets with his ducks". There is a great deal of dispute concerning the role of the old man in this work. A cursory examination of the text would suggest that he provides the end of a life's journey, perhaps demonstrating dementia as a consequence of old age. However, the ducks "worshipping the giant bringing them manna" suggests that he is to be construed as more than simply a man, but perhaps a divine being. There is also the line "Knowing all that passes in his domain", which strongly suggests that the old man possess omniscience within his "domain", a trait commonly possessed by deities. Regardless, the old man also serves to bookend the work.

There is also significant debate surrounding the significance of the ducks. Some authors believe that the ducks signify a particular socio-political discourse, others feel that they represent others who have impact on our lives. This essay shall leave their significance as an exercise for the reader.

Overall, 'The Park' is an important work in the collection of social commentary produced during such a troubled time in Australia.

The Island

Sitting in the failing light
Listening to the gentle roar of the ocean
Hungry
Wanting
Seeking to devour the land
Striving with each breaking wave
And then retreating again

A cold wind blows
Pushing the waves further onto the beach
Brining the taste of salt inland
Moulding the trees into strange shapes
Bent and twisted

The Island
Close to the shore
Seemingly close enough to touch
Yet far distant
Silent and immobile
Challenging all to seek it out
Or remain lesser
Unfinished
Unable to meet the challenge

To meet that challenge then
Remains the sole task
Slide slowly into the water
Brave the pull of the tide
The roar of the waves
Traverse the depths of blue
Reach the final goal
So close, yet
Astonishingly far

And to fail?
To fail yet try
A worthy ambition
To surrender to the gentle caress
Not an abhorrent fate
Slide into the depths
Allow the surrender
The peace
Away from the noise and sound of a world gone mad
A final rest
A worthy goal

Natural Fibres

The rope is rough in my hands, thick. Small spikes dig into my skin. The pain a gentle reminder. Always natural ropes, fibres. They always work the best. Gloves would have helped, but no matter now. It's just a gentle prick.

"It's just a gentle prick." Lies, as usual. A sharp pain, then the spread of dull ache as the injection was forced into my gum. Waiting for the numbness that never fully came. A lie, that gentle prick, as much of a lie as any words from their mouths. The sound of the drill, the noise and vibration. The pain building. "Raise your hand," he had said, "raise your hand if it hurts too much." A fist clenched hard, holding on. Being strong. Eventually raised as it became unbearable. But nothing. No relief. Nothing but lies, constant lies leading to searing agony. A litany of lies that never ended.

Rolling the rope in my fingers. Carefully measuring against my hands, just so. It's important to have the right length. Folding over itself, wrapping around. Important, but you can always start over, and keep going until it is right. That's the key, really, keep on going until you get it right.

"Pull it apart, start again, and keep going until you get it right." The words brusque but not unkind. Shere Khan moved onto the next station, scouts all involved in different knots and rope activities. I pulled apart my attempt at lashing in disgust and threw the pieces to the ground. Then I sighed and picked them up again. Practice, persistence, and keep going until you get it right. I tugged on the rope, but it wouldn't come. A quick slap from Jamie and the wood was on the ground again as well. 
"Loser!" he said, kicking the pieces out of my reach. 
"Tosser," said another scout. Familiar taunts, but losing none of their virulence in familiarity. As I bent to pick up the wood, I felt a push on my back and I sprawled forward. Laughter and other boots greeted my attempts to rise until I stayed still, face in the dirt. Finally boring of their game, they moved away. I picked up the pieces of wood and the rope. I had to keep on going until I got it right.

A quick swing. A miss. Using the weight of the knot to my advantage, I try again. Another miss, but closer. I pull more of the rope into my hand and throw again. After an agonising moment lasting for centuries, the rope slides over the rafter. Without a ladder, I make do by letting the weight pull the rope to the right length and then tying the tail tightly to a side post. A quick test of the knot proves it to be secure. Testing the other end makes sure it won't slip. There will be no mistakes.

"What the hell have you done this time? Moron!" I stood shivering and dripping water onto the deck. I knew better than to try to go inside this wet. No matter what I might face here, that would be worse. Much worse. And if I had lost the boat? Let it drift down the river? My supposedly secure knot had slid undone, slick synthetic rope letting the knot work loose under the influence of tide and wind. The swim had been cold, the return trip exhausted me. I had been lucky that I had noticed quickly. Not quickly enough.

Slipping over my head. A little tighter. There, resting gently around my neck. Not too tight, but not loose. It mustn't be too loose.

"It mustn't be too loose. Nor should it be so tight it wrinkles your collar. Let me see now." His voice was soft to match his face, but this was one teacher who was always impeccably dressed. Long pants and tie every day, regardless of weather. The students spoke of him sleeping in a tie, not knowing they were carrying on a tradition of decades. The ordeal all the boys were going through was in preparation for Graduation. A momentous day, a time of celebration. For most. For me, a joyous time in a different way. Not a celebration with friends, but a celebration at leaving a pit of destructive ruin. I carefully adjusted my tie until it was perfect. It felt good.

It is time. All the preparation is done with. Only one task remains. I take a single step forward, and gasp despite myself as the rope tightens. All the knots hold, as they should. A darkness comes slowly, warm and welcoming. I am done here, gladly I accept the embrace that is offered. I close my eyes as the rope stretches and twists, spinning gently. I am content as the darkness pulls at me gently. It is over.

The Swim

Slide a toe in The water cool
Yet calming on heat of exertion
Slowly pull sweat-soaked clothes away from skin
Leave folded neatly
No need to be untidy
No need for mess
A small pyramid left
Watch and glasses on top
Now nothing between skin
And the night-time air
Small goosebumps appear
As vestigal hairs attempt to rise
Doomed to failure
Once again

Stride in
Feel the sand beneath feet
Waves pushing against skin gently
Slowly going deeper
Dive forward
Under the wave
Under the water
Ignore the shock
Feel the freedom
As sand underfoot turns to water
And waves to a gentle rise
And fall

Sink down below
Watch the sky slowly fade
Covered with deep darkness
Then rise again
Breach the surface
With desperate gasp
And enjoy life-giving air
Then see on horizon
The dark shape
The goal
The island so close
Within reach of a desperate grasp

So swim
Slowly and surely
Following the soft silver glow of the moon
Towards the island
Rising and falling with the swell
Losing sight but not hope
Each time sinking down
Only to rise again

Yet the island stays
Distant and tempting
Unwilling to move
Traced in shades of dark
As the swim continues

Feel the cold seep in slowly
 Seductively
Cooling the fires of passion
Slowly drawing away strength
Subtle
Unseen
Unfelt
The cold hands of every wave pull
Each time a little deeper

Sinking
Drifting
Watching the moon slowly fade
The island feels close now
Just a moment away
A moment

The Park

The old man sits and smiles
Throwing bread to the ducks
Who gather at his feet
Worshipping the giant bringing them manna
And sharing with all who attend
He laughs and tells them secrets

The young girl runs alongside the path
String trailing behind her
Balloon shifting in the wind
She cries out in delight
Wishing she could see what the balloon sees

The child cries
Fallen and hurting, he reaches up into the sky
His mother holds him
Comforts him
He runs again, dodging between seats

The woman sits under a tree
Immersed in her book
In her mind she is in space
Lasers blasting
Shields failing
She turns a page

The lovers relax
Spread on their rug
Stomachs full of food
Eyes full of each other
To themselves they are alone

The dog runs
Not heeding distant shouts
Losing herself in scents and excitement
Tongue lolling as she pants
Freedom, for a moment

The old women laugh
Sharing stories of youth
Now long distant
Only existing in memories
To be shared over again

The old man sits and smiles
Knowing all that passes in his domain
Sharing secrets with his ducks

Tents

We all live in tents
Of our own devising
Breaking the world into parts
Mine
Not-mine
Us
Them
Good
Evil

In our tents we can decorate as we like
Floors, rugs, paintings
Whatever takes our fancy
Our tent can be big
Large enough to hold many
Or our tent can be small
Just big enough for one
Or maybe two, no more
Our tents can change size
Shrinking and growing to fit
Sometimes by choice, but
Often unbidden
Sometimes unwanted

Outside of the tent is a scary place
Out of control
Unwatched
Unwanted
But safely ignored, with the flaps closed
If our tent is well made nothing can get in
But nothing can get out
Opening the flap means risk
Potential reward
Contamination
Or sharing

No matter how thick the tent though
We can be squashed
Branches falling
Floodwaters rising
Invading our tent
Our sanctuary

Then to rebuild
A smaller tent, safer
Alone

Butterflies

My mind is a blank
Thoughts and words fly through
Like butterflies
Only to flutter by
Not leaving a mark beyond delicate footprints
Soft marks on an otherwise blank slate

My mind is numb
Not feeling that which I know I must feel
Not allowing time to progress
Frozen in a state of undying
Unliving
Protection, perhaps, or fear
Of feeling

My mind is empty now
The butterflies have fluttered by
Void of all thought
All emotion
An empty shell
A husk that appears to be
Normal
Okay
Fine
On the outside
But nothing remains inside

Each Tear Tells A Story

 Rolling down the cheek
One at a time
Leaving a trail of moisture
A soft glistening line

Mix of salt and water
Expressing fear or rage
Grief, anger, sorrow
Across many a stage

Each tear tells a story
Of moments of great pain
Perhaps watching a loved one
Leaving on a train

Each tear tells a story
Of memories and grief
Those taken from us
Fallen like a leaf

Each tear tells a story
A moment of unbridled joy
Of happiness so great
There is no need to be coy

Each tear tells a story
So what of those unshed
Those left behind, held back
Stories left unsaid

For each tear that is withheld
What then is the cost
For surely it is not the case
These emotions are just lost

Suppressed, kept aside
Not seeing light of day
Can this be a healthy approach
Is this a healthy way

These tears unshed, left bottled up
'til pressure reaches peak
When vessel cracks, what then will go
What violence shall they wreak

Perhaps is best then
Leave them be
Pressure contained
Structurally

For if each tear tells a story
That does not want to be heard
Then leave them unshed
Let them be cloistered

After all, to be numb
Allows a sense of peace
Hiding the screams
Avoiding their release

Lament For The Night

Lament the passing of the gentle dark
Where silence reigns and the stars hold court
Lament the dawn that shines so bright
A harsh and strong retort

Lament the loss of all that was
The soft gentle glow of the moon
Lament the sun that rises fast
And over us does loom

Lament the light, the breaking dawn
And all that brings with it
Lament the scorching heat and light
That turns the earth to grit

Lament the night that was
Now lost for all of time
Lament the newborn day
For all its heinous crimes

I Fade Away

I fade away
As winter fades under the onslaught of the sun
Cold replaced slowly with heat
Growths starting
Continuing
Darkness replaced with light
Pouring into souls and minds
Poisoning the elegant darkness

I fade away
As the tide covers the sand
Wiping away all traces left
Patterns and artworks created with love and care
Their fate a reminder that all must go
As the waves wash over, higher and higher
Leaving nothing but a blank canvas
Covered in water

I fade away
As clouds part and move
Lifegiving rain dries slowly
Yet too soon is just a memory
Dry dusty soil covering the Earth
Leaving nothing to live
Baked by the sun

I fade away
As memories fade over time
Nothing left but fond recollection
The pains and triumphs merging into haze
The sorrow and suffering that make life real
Gone
Lost in the mists of time

I fade away
As all things fade
Leaving nothing but faint impressions
Hints of memories
 The smallest traces of existence
Nothing more

Tears

We are all alone in sorrow
Tears flow down one face only
It is not a time to be shared
Sorrow, that emotion so lonely

The salt in our tears reminds us
Of our origins deep in the see
Where alone once again we can float
In a place with only 'me'

 Each tear held back still hurts
As hidden as it may be
They collect, built up, become a part
Of deep pent up misery

In sorrow we are by ourselves
None can hold our hand
All that remains is to choose
When and where to make a stand

How Long

She asked me how long I would sleep
Until the world ends
And the birds fall from the sky
Until the walls crumble
And the cities lie in ruins
Until shadows take the lands
And all that remains is dust

She asked me how long I would weep
Until the oceans run dry
And are filled again with tears
Until the sun burns no more
And all is frozen in endless night
Until the very stones themselves are cracked
And ground into finest dust

She asked me how long I would try
Until old age condemns
And naught is left of spirit
Until all ventures have been tried
And hope is a distant memory
Until my feet are worn and blistered
And only stumps remain

She asked me why I would die
I told her the truth
And watched her cry in sorrow
I showed her my heart
And felt hers break asunder
I shared with her my mind
And saw her understand

In The Mists

In the mists I sit
Watching the world that could be
Shaped by the gentle touch of air
Patterns form, billow, are gone
A gateway into the future
Or the past

Sitting and watching I see their faces come
And go
Lovers long lost
Friends now turned from me
Enemies once held dear
All fading as the mist

I sit
Tormented by the waves of revulsion of acts past present themselves
Taking form in the darkness again and again
Allowing the gentle torment of watching
As I fail time and time again
Yet each fresh in my memory
As if only yesterday

The mist swirls around me
Not willing to surrender to its soft embrace I watch
As the future unfolds in its depths
A future of pain
A future of suffering
A future that resembles past and present
Comforting pain
Familiar sorrow
The agonies of this future are as nothing
Blows and wounds I have suffered a thousand times
Now meaningless with repetition

I sit as the mist draws closer
Torn, wanting to surrender
Wanting to feel, even if only pain
Wanting the numb, the blank, the nothing
Willing the mist to swallow me
Let it all fade
Whiteness overcoming
A final peace

The Sineater

The old man strode along the road, grey cloak covered in dust. His pace never slowed, never quickened as he strode onward. After hours spent in timeless walking he entered the outskirts of a village.

Without warning, a stone struck him in the back. His walking never slowed. Another stone flew past his head unheeded. The young boy was about to throw again when a hand grasped his arm.
"Look at his cloak! Don't you know who he is?"
The boy ran home, mute with terror. He did not speak for days.

Slowly, those remaining in the village lined the street leading to the one inn, knowing this must be the dusty man's destination. When he reached the door he paused to shake the dust from his cloak before entering. In a deep raspy voice unused to speaking he said a single word. "Ale." He placed some small coins on the bar, but the innkeeper, pale and sweating, ignored them as he filled a leather jack.

A long slow drink cleared some of the road from his throat, and as the cloak was thrown back the old man seemed to shed his years. Instead of age, his face showed but a score and a half years. His eyes though, told a different story, were any brave enough to look. Not one of the crowd forming inside the inn dared, as they knew the grey cloak well. Not a one knew the man, but the symbol was familiar to all.

"I have been drawn here, I am needed here." It was a statement, a question, a challenge. Who would be brave enough to speak?
"My father. He is sick. He..." the words lay on the tall man's tongue like lead. He resorted to pointing out the back of the inn to the sickhouse. The grey cloaked man stood without a word and moved through the crowd of people, all shifting silently to let him pass.

The old man lay in the bed, sweat pouring down his face. He knew his time was near, had seen his children and their children for the last time. As he lay dying, his thoughts turned to his life. He had, as all men, lived a life without thought of death. At first he was too young to die. Then, as he aged, death was an inconvenience that was not worth considering. Now though, when he stood with one foot passing through the gate, he reflected on his life. On all the missed opportunities. On all the mistakes. Crimes committed in the name of family, of love, of hope for a future. Crimes that now haunted him, faces long gone staring at him from every corner.

The door creaked, a shadow blocking the light.
"So, you have come for me?" A laugh turned into a fit of coughs, dry and painful. The shadow moved closer, revealing the man in the grey cloak. "Sineater!" the old man gasped, clutching at his chest as the man moved to kneel next to the bed.
"I absolve you." The words were soft, barely spoken. "Your crimes are forgiven. I take upon myself your pain, your memory, your sin." Gentle hands moved to hold the shoulders of the dying man. "You will leave this world as you entered, with clean slate." The words now barely heard, yet resonating. Lines appeared on the sineater's face, aging him as he took on another soul's burdens, allowing the pain caused by every act, every crime, all the suffering caused in a lifetime to flow through him. "Be free," the sineater gasped, flinging his hands into the air.

The son, courage fortified by harsh spirits, sneaked carefully into the sickhouse. His father lay smiling, chest still. The grey cloak was now rumpled and soiled, spread like wings around its wearer, slumped by the bed. With strength born of grief the son kicked the man.
"Leave this place!" he shouted. Another kick and the sineater staggered to his feet, face worn with a burden almost too much to carry. He stumbled out the door and down the road, to the shouts of a son wrought with grief and little understanding.

Grey cloak covered in dust, the man strode along the road, seeking his next destination, knowing that it might be his last. The burden too much to bare. He kept walking, alone.

A Phantom

There's as phantom outside my window
I can hear him at night
Rattling his chain as he paces
Yet still he does not fright

There's a spirit in the ceiling
I can hear her sometimes moan
As she moves ever so slowly
I wonder if she feels alone

There's a monster in my wardrobe
Hiding in the shoes
I catch a glimpse just sometimes
It seems very confused

I wonder what they think of me
Monster, phantom, spirit
I wish I had the nerve sometimes
To ask them come to visit

We could have tea and scones
Fresh baked in the oven
And if they did not eat
I'll take scones by the dozen

But up till now I have not asked
My friends to come and see me
Maybe they'll be too scared
After all, I am a banshee!

Bonus Track

---

I lie in my bed and look back on my life
The pain, the lies
The joys and triumphs
A giant scale, weighing the measure of a man

Is my heart light as a feather?
I think not
I am scarred with memories
Betrayal
Loss
Hopelessness

All the times when I stood by silent
The times when I spoke with silver tongue
The hurts, the wounds caused and taken
How could this be balanced
What good could help lift my heart
So black
So lost

Rain Falls

The rain falls
Soft trickles run down the window
As the car drives away
Tyres throwing water aside
Only for the puddles to be filled again
Now dark and muddy

The night sky is dark
Stars hidden by dim clouds
The moon lies hidden in shadow
Only occasional flashes of light appear
As distant thunder rumbles and rolls
Even the sound of a far distant engine now silent

The rain falls still, unnoticed as the tears that fall
He is leaving, never to return
That much is clear no matter what he says
As he drives off into the night
The clouds darken the skies
But they are not as dark as her heart

The sun dawns, the rain has stopped
The tears flow even now
As clouds slowly clear, revealing a sky so blue
They flow, one by one falling down cheeks wet with sorrow
The sun does not shine here

Another storm, another clouded night
Yet the only sound is the rain
All else is still
The river rages, bursting with water
lowing wildly, branches and debris swirling
Raging against the constraints of banks of earth

She stands there watching
Thinking
Letting the rain fall on her
Over her
Through her
What is left now, she wonders
But to end it, finish it
He will not return

So she leaps
Flies, free for the first time in her life
Soars high above the clouds, to where the sun and moon and stars shine

The soft crunch of gravel
Water, muddy and unclean, splashes away
There is no more to replace it
He has travelled long to be here
Desperate to see her
Hoping against hope
Reconciled against the fear she has forgotten him

Crossing a bridge, he does not see
A small white cross
Wilting flowers
He is fixed on his goal
As rain falls

A Certain Solace

There is a certain solace in alcohol
The soft gentle haze
Dulling the mind for just a moment
Reducing intense gaze

The social lubricant, some call it
It loosens up the tongue
And when the next morning comes
You must face what you have done

Alas for me it always is
A burden I must bear
That I remember oh so clearly
Everything that happened there

In that state of delicate balance
Between too little and too much
The rational brain is suspended
Without any form of crutch

And so it remains as always
The question of the hour
To drink, or not, or drink some more
No matter how sour

---

Each night he seeks solace
In the amber fluid
Drowning his sorrows for a moment
But never for long
As the glass empties so do his thoughts
Only to return again and again
Always the same
The shame
The blame
The sin which must be forgotten, yet never can
The crime that must be remembered
Until senseless, he pours into bed

The screaming in his head
Never ceases
Never ends
Even at the bottom of a glass it is heard
Muffled but not silent
He does not know who screams
Perhaps it is himself
In knowing what he has done
Losing any hope of redemption
Forgiveness an impossible dream

And so he seeks to forget
For that brief moment
All his cares gone
Not caring why he screams
In the gentle glow
That moment, however short, golden in bliss
Aware that it cannot last
Yet wishing it could
Pretending it will

Every night he tries to stop the pain
Knowing he cannot
Fearing he never will
Seeking what small comfort he can
For that fleeting moment
When the screams are muted

The Hole

The deep dark hole into which everything falls
A vast gaping pit leading down, ever down
Lining the sides, screaming monsters showing claws
Pulling desperately down to drown

How easy it is to gently relax
Slide deep down into the pit
Let the world seep through the cracks
Drift down and submit

Let the worries and cares of the world abate
Cast yourself into the deepest dark
There is no need to try to create
Meaning, life, a heart

When there is nothing left to lose
When all has faded to shades of black
What else is there but to choose
To exit this world, who's care you lack

How easy it is to let it all go
Let the claws dig in and hold
Lose yourself in that desperate flow
Down headfirst so dark and cold

Throw yourself in and drown
Deep into the darkest belly of the beast
Let not your burdens weight you down
For now they will have ceased

Into My Mind

My mind is a sea of thoughts that are not thoughts
Words that have lost all meaning
Blank spaces where ideas are meant to go
Empty spots where once there was screaming

Swirling in a maelstrom, spinning round and round
Ideas, identities start to fall
Listen closely, if you dare
To their voice, their scream, their call

A whirlwind of colours
Shining, shimmering, blending into one
Until suddenly a flash, and then
The darkness has come

A sole flickering light
Bursts into flame
Then dies out
Gone before it came

But in that moment of light
What horrors stood revealed?
Far better to stay in the dark
Leave them concealed

All is blank now
All is still
Again the peace of not knowing
On the surface all tranquil

Under the surface though
Tentacles reaching
Listen closely
You will hear the screeching

A thousand tormented souls scream
Their everlasting defiance
Screaming against this
The unholy alliance

All tightly contained
Inside my mind
While on the outside
I hide and leave behind

Consider this well, when venturing in
What lurks beneath the surface
Watch and be warned, oh traveller
There is much to hurt us

They Watch

The trees are dark and silent
Any hint of light or heat has long passed with the sun
Standing mute testimony to the violence
They watch, as always
Silent and passing judgement
Decrying the horrors they have witnessed
Agonising over each drop of blood spilt
Blood that gives new life and growth even as it means death
Blood that flows deep into the earth, leaving behind only a memory of what was

The moon sets slowly, casting soft silver light
Glints of light from shards of metal
Glimmers of hope now shattered and left fallen
Untouched
Unwanted
Lost, as all hope was lost
There were no victors here, no cries of celebration
Only the screams of those not yet gone
Abandoned to their fate
Their blood soaking into the ground
Giving new life
But not theirs

The stream passing through swirls aimlessly
Painting a reflection of the sky
Stars shining, shimmering, then gone
As another dark shape circles in the water
Making its slow journey to the sea
A frog's croak sounds, then is silent
Sacred void broken but for a moment
Even the air is still this night

The morning will see light, movement
A thousand lives started for each one ended
Yet the trees will scream in silent despair
Forbidden to move, to act
Condemned to watch alone
Lacking even the comfort of company
So they watch
And die even as new life seeps through their roots

Chasm

In my mind is a deep chasm
Leading into a dark void
Where nothing exists, but nothing can exist
In that state of nothingness a burning fire
Narrow, but slowly creeping wider

Teetering on the edge I stand
Looking into the fiery void
Staring and wondering
What would happen if
If I cast myself in
But I stand
Barely holding against the tide

Across the chasm a bridge is being built
Inch by inch spanning the gap
Pale stones reflecting nothing
Reflecting fire
Reflecting the void, and absorbed
Foundations driven deep into the earth give strength
Yet
While the chasm grows
Cracks appear
Small and hidden
Waiting

The questions rise with the stones
Should I try
Cross the bridge
Should I jump
Fall into the void
Should I stay
Teetering on the brink of destruction

Tonight I stay
Tempted but unmoving
Wanting to try, to cast myself into the depths
Wanting to stay, to cross the bridge
Ever wanting that which cannot be
An end to the void

Trees

There they stand.
Countless seasons have passed.
Winters long and cold.
Summers hot and dry.
Flood, drought, fire.
All have passed them by and left them.
Not untouched, not unscarred.
They all bear the marks of each and every season.
But strong.
Standing there still.
Forging ahead through all trials.

There were trees, once.
Trees that lacked strength.
Fought against the seasons, fought hard and long.
Lost the battle.
We cannot fault them.
But they have not survived.

Some people fight hard.
Against all that oppose them, strong battles.
They fail, and fall, and are left.
Nothing more than memories.

Some people do not fight.
They allow all to pass over.
Content with hiding and avoiding harm.
They fail, and fall, and are left.
No one remembers them.

Then there are those, those few.
Who stand like the trees, enduring.
They do not allow injustice to pass.
They bear the scars and wounds of their battles.
Yet stand tall and proud.

My Depressed Brain

My depressed brain came in a gradual state of decline. I didn't just wake up one day depressed. It happened slowly, and will be slow to recover.

My DB is slow. It's like my neurons aren't communicating with each other like they should. Small effect, but noticeable when I look for it. My DB is also slower to do things, get started. Motivation is a serious problem. Just getting out of bed is a challenge in the morning.

Getting to sleep is also a challenge. My DB likes to bring up all those horrible memories right when I try to sleep. Or just keep going long after I close my eyes. Then, if I let it, my DB will sleep for 12, 13 hours straight. But only when it feels like it.
 
Did I mention motivation? My DB doesn't give a fuck. Why bother, it says. Doesn't matter anyway. My DB would rather stay alone, hidden, safe and sound in my cave. My mask.

My DB does have a lovely range of wigs and fake glasses. It likes to play dressup, not letting itself be seen. I'm just grumpy. Been a hard week, out of patience. Work stress, it will pass. I'm fine. I'm good. I'm doing ok. My DB is a consummate liar. Especially to the people I care about and who care for me. Even more so to myself.

My DB though. Mine, a part of me. Sadface.

The sound
The constant moaning
Droning
On and on and on and on and on
Over and over

Whispers in the night
In the darkness
In the depths of the mind
Constant unending talk and chatter
I'm not good enough I'm not strong enough I'm not anything

They all hate me
They all want me to go away
The world would be better without me in it

Meditation of a Wounded Knight

Pain.
Ah, that dear friend, she has come to share her warm embrace with me again. Her gentle touch, soft as a lover's touch should be soft, reminds me of the many nights spent in her arms. Comforting. Familiar.
I had wondered when she would visit again, this night. She comes to me early sometimes, sometimes later. Tonight has been late, hours spent waiting on my lover's presence. I knew she would come to me, there has not been a night where we have been parted for long.
Her caress reminds me of many past adventures, follies. She is as familiar to me as my armour, as comfortable as my skin, a constant companion on nights such as these.
These past years, not a night has passed without her touch. Familiar as she has become, she is still a welcome addition to my night, her presence expected, comforting. I slip now into her embrace, awaiting a rude awakening that I know will come. Yet, for now, she is with me, I am in her arms, and the world is at peace.

The Gates of Hell

The Gates of Hell themselves will open wide
Before I let you go and run away;
For now you're in a place you cannot hide.

You said that you would never leave my side;
But now you're gone, the skies have all turned grey;
The Gates of Hell themselves will open wide.

You left, I sat there. Thought I would have cried.
The night's silence cut, the sound of a jay;
For now you're in a place you cannot hide.

You said you would always be here. You lied.
I say this to you. Now. Here and today;
The Gates of Hell themselves will open wide.

I thought I'd be able to cope, I tried,
But now I know that was never the way.
For now you're in a place you cannot hide.

Now, there is no time. You cannot abide.
Do what you wish, you may want to pray;
The Gates of Hell themselves will open wide,
For now you're in a place you cannot hide.

Why

She sits and she stares at the stars up above her.
Why? she asks.
Why are stars there? Why are they not here amongst us?


The stars watching overhead say nothing. They never do.

The fire burns slowly, fading into soft yellows and reds. She watches a coal slowly disintegrate into ashes.
Why? she asks.
Why does the fire burn? Why does it not leap in joy and heat?

The cooling ashes say nothing. They never do.

The mother cries as another child is slowly lowered into the cold unfeeling embrace of the earth.
Why? she asks.
Why does the cruelty continue? Why was another life taken so soon?

The earth says nothing. It never does.

She sits in her chair, at the end of her life. Full of hardship and joy, now death approaches.
Why? she asks.
Why have I always been? Why has it not been someone else?

Death answers her.

Listen

Listen to the clock
Tick... tick... tick...
Yet never there is a tock
If you listen to the clock.

Listen to the sky
See how far you can hear
Just how high
If you listen to the sky.

Listen to the silence
Not a sound to be heard
Yet there is no reason to be tense
If you listen to the silence.

The Abyss

I stare into the abyss
Vast black pit of despair
I turn my head and walk away
I simply do not dare

I walk along the edge of the pit
Across the endless sands
Wondering where I can stop
Where I can take a stand

Under a dead sky
Filled with the decaying light of forgotten stars
Frozen landscape filled with decaying trees
Each reminds me of my scars

Weary of life I wander still
Through the desert, under the sky
Where I am going I know not
To find a destination I must try

Eventually I might find my way
Out of despair and into the light
Otherwise I fear that this may end
With nothing left of my life

Sillyness

I heart iambic pentameter verse
Although I find the rhyme to be a curse
The few who say that I do not know how
To write and rhyme I say you are a cow
For I can do this project that I set
Though on my fingers counting I must check
So now I must bring this rhyme to an end
Before iambic pentameter bends
Beyond the bounds of which I can allow
And blast, now all I can think of is cow
Which is the wrong way to end this here poem
A fate much worse than buried under loam
So this is now the end, at last I say
An end to this here verse, right now, I pray!

I am...

I am...
The blank slate.
Wiped clean, streak marks covering my dark face where all has been wiped away.
Nothing left of what was, waiting always.
 I am...
The empty vessel.
Waiting to be filled.
Empty having been full.
All that was contained is now lost.
Nothing left of what was, waiting always.
I am...
The unknowing.
What I was.
What I will be.
Lost in the eternity of time, never to be known again.
I am...
The forgotten.
Left behind, abandoned.
Unworthy and unwanted.
I am...
The lost.

The windswept tor looms over the fens
The cold wind blows, people wish for their beds
A night bird screeches, filling the air
From whence did it come, from over there?
Or perhaps further away in the dark dark forest
Where people who venture are often lost
Ne'er to be seen again, at least in this life
Though spirits are drawn to the sound of the fife
Or other such sounds, as the tales go
If they are true is not for us to know
For who would dare venture into the deep dark woods
Who would go forth, where none of us could
Are any so brave, so foolish, so restless
As to venture so far, be so reckless
And find the answers, the truth that they seek?
Well, none there are, not this month, not this week
Some brave young souls ventured out not too long ago
Armed with the axe, and the sword, and the bow
The went forth under the bright light of day
And did we see them again?
The answer is nay
They remain lost, far from this place
You can see from the look on the old man's face
They will not come back, with their axe and their bow
They are lost to us now, strange paths to follow
For they did not listen, did not understand
That the woods are not ours, there, those trees stand
Alone and apart, yet joined as if one
Their darkest depths hidden from the sun
Who knows what goes on in those deep dark ways
Hidden from view, the sun, the turning of days
Hidden from us, from mere mortal eyes
Hidden away in shadow and lies
So when the cold wind blows over the tor above
And all that is heard is the mournful dove
Think of those lost, ne'er to be found
Think of their bones on the soft wet ground
Think of the last sight that they may have seen
Think of the trees, the bark, the green
Think to yourself, would you pay the cost?
Would you venture forth, only to be lost
Lost to all who love, who care, who see
Lost to the mountains, the mist and the sea
Think of the price you would pay, brave young soul
And think to yourself, would this leave me whole
If you choose to go forth, into the dark
Know that it is not simply a lark
Know that you will not return
Know that it is your grave you earn.

In the green

The hall is deserted now, quiet. A soft wind blows through the open doors, stirring dust and memories alike. On the floor is a small scrap of green fabric, blowing around with the wind. As the sun sets, the breeze first picks up and then dies, but not before the scrap of fabric dances in the air again, one final time.

---

"...and in her lifetime, she saw great challenges. Great change. Saw these challenges and met them. At the end of her life, the Lady in Green was surrounded by people who knew the difference she had made. "She will be remembered."

The oration delivered, the old man stepped slowly away from the centre of attention, using his gnarled stick to stay steady. He did not pause at the door to listen to others speak. The Lady in Green had touched many in her life, many more would speak today, but in his heart he knew that the words they would say would not help him, would not ease his pain. He stumbled as he passed from the dim hall to the bright afternoon sun. The Lady in Green, they called her, never knowing why, never knowing that she was his Lady in Green.

---

The healer looked tired. Deeply sunken eyes in a face worn with more than age. He had been working hard, late into each night, trying to ensure a little more time for the great Lady. She had none left. He did not need to speak, did not need to say the words to cause pain and despair. The look on his face was sufficient.

The old man stayed where he was, cold hand held in cold hand. He would not leave his lady now, not until the final rites were done. Even then he would not say goodbye, he would never say goodbye to the Lady in Green.

---

The old man stood proudly, bearing arms once more. The last of the sod had been returned, his Lady's Lord had made his way to his final resting place. She had married for her people, for alliances. There may have been love, but if not there was always respect. While her Lord had ruled over the fighting men, the Lady in Green had always been the true power.

His Lady stood proudly, still erect and graceful even as the years took their toll. Her pale green dress now hung from her with less than the perfection of her prime. With kind words she thanked those who had attended, but not him. For him alone was kept a smile, sharing a long history. Never had they shared a bed, but the Lady in Green held a special place in his heart.

---

She had asked him once, after the birth, why he had never married. Had he wanted to be a husband, a father.

He simply smiled at her. She understood.

---

He stands, watching. Guarding. Ready if needed, content to wait until his Lady in Green calls upon him. While his Lady has married recently, he still considers her his only mistress and prime duty. It is a pleasure to serve his Lady, service that will continue until he meets his glorious end.

---

A young, well-dressed lady races through the field. Free again from the restraints of her training, she is enjoying an afternoon of sun and grass. Following closely behind is a sturdy young man, a slight frown on his face as he tries to keep up. Running is harder for him, as the axe across his back slows him.

Later in the afternoon the young man and woman are stretched on the grass, resting after a luncheon devoured with the hunger of the young and fit. Together they spoke, of dreams, of lifetimes to be lived. Regardless of the difference in station they spoke for hours, only to run home again through the green.

---

The young boy was turning into a man. Strands of wiry muscle were visible across his chest as he swung a practice sword again and again. Sweat formed small droplets, joining together before running down his face and forming small craters on the dusty ground.

A girl, younger than the boy, watches from a window. She has been working on embroidery, a lopsided attempt at a flower fills most of the cloth in front of her.

---

He was watching her, again. The father could see the serving boy loitering outside the nursery. The young boy never did more than watch, but he seemed to be there whenever his duties allowed. Sometimes more than his duties truly allowed.

Later in the evening the father sat behind his desk. His steward, recently summoned, knocked once on the door before entering. They spoke long into the night.

---

Foam covered the sides of the horse, blowing away with the wind of passage as the rider kicked hard, forcing a killing speed. The blown nostrils showed a brave animal who would never bear another rider, ruined by this desperate ride.

In the middle of the field, a soft moan. No more screams to be heard, her throat worn too raw to continue, only moans and whimpers to express the pain. A difficult birth, a long birth, in this lonely field. The young serving boy, little more than a child himself, did what he could to help the lady as she slipped away slowly in exhaustion, terror, and pain.

As the horse buckled and fell to its knees, the rider staggered along, desperately racing against time. He pushed past the open gate, into the field. Racing as fast as exhausted legs could carry him, he reached the middle. The boy, terrified, was cradling a squalling infant in his arms, his lady lay on the ground. The boy spoke, finally. "She was born in the green."