About Me
I've always liked writing poems and short stories, here is an old favourite, it's not a homage to the man himself, more a homage to a really interesting week.........................................THE WEEK THE POPE DIED........................................................
...............A Saturday night, my feet stuck to the floor made me think of the happy times behind as the band played tender and soft, the long walk upstairs from the door to the loft, his smiling face waiting. So this is what my love goes through and becomes stronger, no longer hating and thinking I’d erred, the voice turns to that of a harpy, her bird wings flap in time with the music, her claws rake my pale skin, the leader of his kin, now dead and in state heads there with his clean slate, his mitre askew, a rakish grin perhaps of what’s left behind?
The days now blend into one his body still, my thoughts of being incorporeal, a carbon based waste and all the mistakes flood through my senses all the friends left behind becoming fewer with each passing year, my solitary tear wiped away with a jerk. How strong a heart must be to lose such a great thing, how weak a heart must be to beat and keep believing, a hollow ring to each laugh disguises the truth and a close call in the car on a damp Sunday lane brings my mind back to focus without pain, there’s a dog in the back, sleek and black she licks my legs, a form of hero worship I do not deserve. A false attack at dawn, still they mourn is he half way to the great feast?I was walking around your town in the middle of the night so cold and lonely I ran towards the light, your bright hope paving the way, he jostled me to the side and made his way to the fire, left me out there, hair matted to my face in the rain. My shadow in the fading light keeps me company for a moment, we never fight and we never argue. You can hide from the truth but not from the sorrow that will follow, it will always find you, I turn my back with a final look, it’s always the same I find my way back to where I began, find my way home, unsurprised to still be on my own.
I woke up on Wednesday, a day with no colour to the fields and trees, as if he had to die for all of us to see the real truth, my lonely town another mans heaven, his heaven a dream of a girl I used to know, with a single packet of cigarettes the final one she would always save and transfer with a glint in her eyes, a flick of her hair from the old packet to the new, always drinking for two. On each wrist a tattoo, on the left the number eight on the right a roman one, so she was never late. She once asked which is better hello or goodbye? Foolish me answered with glee the latter, although only a fool could see to say goodbye could be forever, each tear you cry you can never take back. To say hello such a simple thing of beauty in many different ways for all of our days she swore to only say hello, not lose a friend and gain a memory only to be dug up in bad times.Still full of erogenous thoughts for you my patch slips from an unblemished eye, we never really did say farewell, half empty soul on a train spies a nun on a sojourn of a different sort before we all vanish to the ether, which is better? A purpose to carry on they retort, yet in some ways deserving our fate, a glimpse of her expression reading it’s never too late, yet my imagination becomes stale, perhaps I have had every thought I ever will and yet maybe one day like her I will be dragged like seaweed to my very own beach, it’s still in reach, her great man taught her well.
The answer to everything unknown he takes to the grave, but one last station and a last look at my watch and the week draws to a close. Hope still remains and always will, he has become the greatest feast for the worms and the trees like us all, the mighty fall and their blood returns to the earth we all become no matter what we have done. It winds its way through stump and bark to feed all nature’s beasts and flows through holes the ants have made, there is beauty all around, I hear it lingering in this sound, it’s in your radiant smile, its here even deep beneath the ground the dark liquid of the Pope, I will have my ever lasting hope, his flesh that now becomes nothing but meat that stains my shoes, upon my feet, they stick to the floor.......................................................
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