A wandering stranger

Some time ago, it was almost a speck; a boy I knew, but he was a strange guy. I didn’t know exactly who he was, but I could relate to him somehow. He loved to wander around in streets, even parks, the bay, under the night, lidless sky could not bind him away. I’d see him from time to time, walking. To no end. He would pass through the canals, cross the bridge, delve below a tunnel, and keep walking. He didn’t exactly know where he was going I thought; he kept moving back and forth, even looking yond his shoulder back. Whether paranoid or no, he seemed cautious. A hint of anxiety kept him, but he still kept going, somehow.

Beside the fact: this was years ago. I can’t believe it – five years. It was that long for a man his age; but five years can be five minutes in a squared amount of time. Anyway, I followed him. I wanted to know what he was doing, where he was walking, where he was going, the air he breathed, the sights he saw, the cars he heard, the people who laughed, and all the swans that swum past the brewing glow. This glow nought I had, in bitter thought comes shaking sleep. ‘Tis sound alone he ought to keep, the rest is bark to sleep. In this space, in this hour, half his sight was cast in gaze, the rest is brought in dark ahead.

Some hour later, he stopped where I just knew where he would stop. This was it. I cried. This was it. It all happened here. The beginning of an evening; the end of the morning; the start of endless night eclipsed by sun under the farthing sun. Everything just fades; echoes – echoes, into the fold. A sound deep, be it consumed in dark. Within this realm, there were no street lights, no. It was all different, you see. A bridge was yond from here, and there were lights, with some not lit. It seemed like it dimmed a road, and this was where he followed through.

Step by step, breath from breath, reduced to congealed blood that soured his heart, soon he kept his pace. His heart boiled and kettled vapour through each lung that sunk cold breezy air and dispersed a new life into the air around him. Within this dark manifold of sempre solitude shook the break of his communal worship in the gait that forsook his brow that gestured at the slightest sound that cast him from here to worlds above, so far from he, and not so far from reach.

Beneath two towering blocks, whose fumes used to bring gaze from all the city at long lost thoughts of musing jeer, at fusing cloth brought freezing fear fraught with a demise of a lost city buried under nostalgic price in gaping memory of one so lost. He stood beneath the biggest tower, sat on the grass, breathed the air. Thus seeing five brilliants of the night, felt four fragments of memory, heard thrice a wolf, a distant footstep and a ripple wrung with stone; twice he smelt a cool air and the smell of distant trees bellowing before him. Once he breathed, he became whole again. Once he breathed, he became me again.

Of Follies in a Single Moment

All the world’s a meagre chase, nor bred are the hundreds gooned for base. And the art of folly so vivid and few can never in arms twice be fed. Nor like the saddles of knowledge whose lives attached are bequeathed upon me this solemn night, the artist wept in cool blood pray. Alas! My honed wretched state of no becoming thwart but sulked to stay. Nor was I the wiser none in keeping state that larks in space and bitter stone this fire come path. These people I ought to know can never give ought what I am; it is in my knowing that they are past. Oh, my life for their knowledge! Who am I to kiss the rock whose life forefeit in great disdain? Am I the curtain to kiss and scorn? Am I the jest to bleed and scorn? They are the virgins of ill got so torn. I am the nightingale of ill suborn; whose loneliness in song is gall so thorn. Are we then the sinners or liars of jokers born? Why don’t mine eyes roll to their nerves to tear? Am I this much a boy for man so ill? Can I not listen to gut in shape to throw? Nor am I this sight in keep’st shred. Nor all echoes are tales be known. No beer nor wine, no coke nor weed can shape me here. This abstract fellow too soft to be fluid; this concrete I lay are beds of chains I cast to stay. Nor better are the stars whose black spots can me shine a light to bring closer at the yolk of night when all lights perish into mine eyes in kindred sleep.

An hour for a day

Still as the night brewing,
Is more the night so still,
Shall stop my clock another,
My heart is singing for night,
More night for an hour;
More the night an hour eternal,
Bring the nightingale from rest
Where brings me soothing tales,
Long listened and hence soothed,
An hour, just an hour for a day,
Is all that asks time for once,
Just the day to form mine hour,

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Ghost in the Mirror

I looked in the mirror and saw myself fading away. A darkening sphere clouded me and I left the bay. The sudden moon that lighted upon me slowly stopped. The light that once lifted me into the Earth was slowly moving. I breathed a vacuum to exhale the nether; I sung the words that silently moved me to a stationary point between heaven and hearth. My path to a sight that I could never reveal had shunned me into a mind filled with abyss and quiet. We moved along a sphere and still find ourselves back where I started in the same soil and Earth that surrounds me these trees that scrutinise. As I step into the long way ahead to a sight unclear as to what matter lay before me, I stopped. Somehow I found myself wandering through the dark looking utterly at the window where the forest planted itself another. Read More

Sphere of Happiness

Indeed, Madame; but first I shall inform you what I mean by love. To think of it is to think of our lives as but a space of darkness; no star to guide us, nor planet to gaze at from above; nor the suns we equal to our hearts as one; for it is none but a thick darkness that covers all through eternity and our lives. The only light we endure is within a sphere which we enjoy as that it is the source of happiness ours. Thine, ’tis a beautiful sphere that I kiss for a pearl in the darkness that reflects an aura of beating heart that illuminates mine to an endless desire to tell thee how much I love you. Read More

Poison beknownst

Where I escape from everyone and everything; where only silence serves as companion⁠⁠⁠⁠
it would feel as though you’re either floating up to the stars or sinking into the earth as the rain pours. Then after a moment you take a deep breath and open your eyes, only to notice people staring at you not knowing what it is you were doing or thinking. Leaving your space in that open field, you realise the moon suddenly clouded and all fails into grey. At that point you droop your head in subservience to they, and from Nature away. But then you look behind, and see the moon slowly walk away as well. Parted have you both become, the lightning that strikes heart thine now seeps a wound. Give me a drop of one that I bless the rose, for upon her lips those words uttered that shape my heart cross and fro; this rose that once I knew and slowly bed gives me way in direction towards. Read More