Anaesthetised breaths
buoyant virus differentials
black blood isolations
Clawing into myself,
digging, scraping, scratching a phantom itch.
…
Amputating feelings, thoughts, emotions,
love,
always excising love,
…
to feel some pain,
for once, to feel the ache, the heartbreak, the anger, the desolation, the loss, the pangs of remorse,
to feel anything at all,
not this numbness,
these tattered synapses, this innured state of anaesthetised unfeeling, the brittle thoughts that shatter, painless, when I stumble and crash, and fall.
…
I ache for the ache, pining to pine, hungering to hunger, bleeding fragments of myself, only to bleed, to feel,
alive,
again…
Tempus Fugit.
Memories are imprinted,
through moments,
and fleeting minutes,
as,
they fade like polaroid stills,
dimmed by the flight of time,
caught between,
the banal and the sublime.
Years trickle by,
stubbornly trudging ahead,
straining to embrace echoes of nostalgia,
yearning to hold them near,
seeking new memories,
carved by the trail of a lonesome tear.
Tomorrow may not arrive,
as it lies at the mercy,
of time's fickle flight,
and as it slips under the blanket of night,
it flees into the arms,
of a hope, warm and bright.
The flight of time sounds its warning bell,
with smug assurance it beckons all,
to hear the tale it has to tell,
knowing someone must heed its call.
Time flies, and rapidly too,
teasing us with promises of days yet to be born,
and so we linger, wasting slices of precious time,
as we walk on,
numb and in an anaesthetised trance,
devoid of all passion,
and,
ever weary to take the plunge,
or to hazard a chance.
I have become like him; nocturnal.
Prematurely anaesthetised by exhaustion
then jerked awake into the darkness.
How long since I have slept 'til dawn?
A stifled yawn veiling scurrying thoughts.
Tennis match of emotions; back and forth;
volleying, lobbing this way and that.
The game, set and match of insomnia.
Then rallying forth as dawn brings clarity.
Despairing disparity sleeping finally.
The silence of the night amplifies my heartbeat.
Each breath echoes in the unsettled gloom.
As the dawn casts its ghostly light around the room
sleepless wakefulness wanes with the retiring moon,
and the owl rests, fatigued by his 'whooing'.
Unlike me he can sleep by day, the night is his time,
not mine; I am the intruder in the darkness;
a restless insomniac with an overactive brain.
Sleep well majestic wise one. No doubt,
when night falls, I will share your company again.
Gentle drops of Angel tears
Once more she drifts to sleep
Anaesthetised and full of hope
Of faith, of love, so deep
A dark, dark mass looms in her form
A cancer cold and stark
They try to cut it all away
She'll wake with mornings Lark
They do the tests - they come to us
"There's more" - is what they say
She begs us - not to make a fuss
She's tired, asks us to pray
She wakes in small hours and holds us tight
She says she's feeling weak
Be happy for her for she'll be alright
Small tears stain her virgin cheeks
Somewhere in the dark cold hours
She drew her final breath
Her brave yet quiet and Godly thoughts
Resound this Angels death
I think of things she would have done
Watch as other children play
I work to help others as if she'd won
Life's battle on that day
I know she looks upon those souls
She'd smile and talk so calm
And in their fears she'll comfort them
In loving Angel's arms
Our little daughter oh so young
Yet old in pain wise years
Reminds me daily of all kids past and
Gentle drops of Angel Tears
R.I.P Angel
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