Category: Poetry

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Infinite Black: The Rack

The rack under naked skin is cold and metallic,
Not quite medical, and not purely a utility bench,
A workbench in a filthy room built for suffering,
The stolen human awaits, like a dirty unfinished project,
Unable to die, a captive, an object, a component,
Living clay, soon to be remoulded, resculpted with other artifacts,
Becoming part mechanical, and part biological,
Dead fingers press, cut, and prod, pulling ropes tight,
All pliable flesh is needlessly lashed into place,
The use of rope is part of the show, it is an aggressive pantomime,
Used to install fear, fear is the source, the essence required,
The dark hoses that crudely sustain life, also fill the body with toxins,
All a mind can do here, is dream nightmares of endless torment,
While the busy engineers tools transmogrify the body,
A single tear falls from the captives eye,
In this place the helpless are stripped down, broken and rebuilt,
All to suit a mysterious unknown purpose.

Discover more about the Infinite Black.

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Time to Fall

As I have aged, it feels like I am falling,
I’m slower, less enthusiastic, unwilling to connect,
Everything hurts, the body joints and the mind aches,
The younger me was more combative, stronger, fireier,
As if I followed an invisible upward trajectory,
But now, I can feel myself falling uncontrollably,
Piece by piece, day by day, I’m disappearing,
I feel I’m at the point where I’m in my own way,
And constantly in the way of others, my fire isn’t as bright,
It doesn’t burn with the same intensity as it once did,
I’m falling now, perhaps back to earth,
Maybe, after a life with my head in the clouds,
I’m finally coming down to rest, to sleep,
To truly sleep for the first time,
Dream free.

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Farewell to Winter

I can feel the tomb of Winter opening,
The locked vault releases its frigid lifeless air,
Preparing for the colour and warmth of Spring,
A return of the honey eaters, monarchs and flowers,
No longer locked in the realm of the dead,
The grey clouds clear, and my mind feels hope again,
A time for drowned sorrows to dry and bloom,
To feel the sunlight again on my tired face,
To smell in the country air, a blossoming world revitalised,
Instead of cold darkness, and memories of death,
It’s a time for birth, art and light,
Breathing in fresh air, after holding it for a season,
I step out into the sunlight and I look older and greyer,
The season of ice has taken so much from me,
But today already feels different,
I hear my wife laughing in the garden, I see our hounds play,
And I feel for the first time in so long,
That everything is going to be ok.

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Sazabi

Looking up from the bay floor of the base, it seemed so immense,
Its titanium red armour plating, intimidating in the bay lights,
The sounds of war, beam rifles and explosions begin outside,
One last battle, one last counter-attack, accomplish the mission,
The enemy is young and keen, advanced minds set on their task,
The pilot activates a lift and slowly rises to the cockpit,
The cockpit opens, sliding up and back with hydraulic hiss,
He enters, blonde haired, arrogant, and seated within the mighty head,
The cockpit closes and the pilot prepares for launch,
The huge unit steps onto the launch conveyer, bracing for launch,
The conveyer rumbles forward, then fires the machine into battle,
Engaging the enemy, the skilled pilot evades and destroys many,
At the culmination of the battle however, the great weapon is hobbled,
The pilot ejects, his fate unknown, Sazabi is discarded above the earth,
Once proud, the great red killing machine’s terrible reign has ended,
It floats silently, a slumbering red leviathan adrift in space.

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Pain and the White

A time awaits where pain is white,
Where days pass in landscape,
And faces once familiar, again delight,
Where youth is no longer pale and spector thin,
But you are celebrated, for all that you have been,
No longer are the daily toils prevalent,
Or the foul opinions of others relevant,
A time where the warm sun is on your face,
Where bright days with clear skies replace,
The anguish and the sorrow,
Where every day, holds a darker tomorrow,
That time awaits where pain is white,
But until then, every day is night.

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Realisation

Nobody cares about what you’ve done,
Do not hark on prior glories,
Because people only like to hear,
About themselves and their own stories,
None of us are anything special,
But some think that they’re more,
Than rotting flesh beneath the ground,
Or breakless wave upon the shore.

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Fools-Gold

New gold prospectors need to know,

That it has all been dug before,

Don’t disrespect gold merchants,

With the fools-gold that you own.

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Timeline

The weight of a lifetime, no child can carry,
Born by accident, disliked, held with contempt,
Loved by the two who practiced it,
Hated by the two felt shunned,
The choice was not the childs,
The future not his own,
True colours became prevalent,
When the two who loved became just one,
The old vipers chose their time,
And at the weakest point, they chose to run,
Alone the child went on,
Hardened to all family and their lies,
The child made two, who were used as weapons,
When a new grief took a toll,
The two shunned awaited, to finally play their roll,
Against the child who thought he’d felt new hope,
But instead, he felt the poison of their suiol,
They both ran too, but one cast shadows,
Over the new two who were born,
Betrayed by one, but not by the other,
An old man remains,
A victim of them all.

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When I die

I will die before my time,
At 3am my heart will fail,
It will read, I died in my sleep,
But I can assure you,
I will be wide awake.

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Starship

Vibrating ship engines hum gently,
Sleek panels, white and shimmering,
Reflecting bright starfield bursts,
Silently slipping through an interstellar expanse,
Internally cool, all occupants are draped in white,
Large bay windows framed by great white rooms,
Where the last remnants of mankind gaze out,
Into endless black sparkling emptiness,
Wondering where they will arrive next,
This sanitised environment, clean and carefree,
Is home, the earth is but a distant memory.