I stumble towards the sunrise
dragging ghosts that flow through my fingers
clenched fists not enough to maintain a grip,
yet they keep their grip on me.
Staring blankly at the living.
A thousand eyes speak curses
I was never meant to hear.
Where am I to drink,
to quench this thirst
and dwell amongst them?
I divide and merge
with the hands of a broken clock
each thought ticking, creeping
towards time’s end.
As the shadows surround me
I withdraw into myself
there, beneath the overgrowth,
I hear my spirit speak:
Where am I to turn
when nothing makes sense?
I linger along the river,
chasing hope around the bend.
The wind speaks in whispers.
The night crucifies.
Sister moon, forgive me
hold me close in your holy hands.
Keep me from the echo
of all I can’t withstand.
Father, could you save me?
Is this all that I could be?
Through the gaps of dying trees
I hear my mother scream for me
and I wake.
The childhood oak outside my window
sways in the morning wind.
Light pierces through the branches.
Mist glistens like constellations.
And yet
I cannot tell
if I have found my way home
or only dreamed it so.
You feel the whispers slither down the long corridor,
each murmur coiling around your thoughts like hungry vines.
They scratch at your calm, sharp as claws unseen,
and fracture your resolve until your heart cannot stay silent.
You sense the walls themselves lean, curious and burdened,
their cracks breathing echoes of every stolen word.
Even the chairs groan beneath an invisible weight,
worn by secrets that slide across the floor like restless ghosts.
You watch as daylight winnows through frosty windows,
afraid to face the truth those whispers carry.
Driven by iron tongues that drip with accusation,
you remain—a flicker of light defying their hush.
You are planted in this room, roots deep in purpose,
a silent sentinel despite the whispers’ might.
And though whispers may rise, their reign will fall to dust—
when your truth, at last, breaks free and echoes with light.
.
frolic'n in the
temperate grasslandz
'hind my inviolable haunt
thuh eager nymph
whilst mine digits 'pon slip
explicate such wander
hern learnz me
diaphanous white frocks
fresh out uv thuh
chilly creek
cauze think
mine think
thinks
'bout
hern
naked 'neath
peachy
blush'n bloom'n
rosette sheath
az we speak'd
You’re taking a stroll (more like speed walking) down the street,
And if you’re anything like me,
You’ll most likely trip on thin air
And bam, you’ve fractured your leg
(No, I’n not an anorexic with osteoporosis)
As it is with accidents, so it is with love.
Just as you may fall and hurt yourself on a run,
Getting hurt is part of the deal when you sign up for intimacy.
You’ll hurt people you love, and they’ll hurt you too.
And before you know it,
They become a language you are no longer fluent in, but still remember how to read.
(I’m talking about you Sanskrit)
It doesn’t take being a doctor to know, that wounds take time to heal.
Broken bones and broken hearts are akin.
In the meantime, how do you hold on to the hope that you’ll run again after a fractured leg?
What if you’re left with a permanent limp instead?
A haunting reminder of only what was, every time you take a step.
Some call it courage, and others a fool’s venture,
The cycle of rupture and repair ensues,
Time begins to work its magic,
Limp as you may,
You’ll muster strength to take a stroll once again.
we are fractured
in a way that seems
irredeemable.
there's no super glue
to mend
a broken relationship.
no splint, no cast, no medication
to fuse us back together
as we once were.
a fragile china cup
dropped from a great height
and shattering into
a million tiny pieces.
an old shelf,
so weighed down by years of
new information and
changing interests,
that the wood has splintered
and worn apart.
we are fractured
in a way that seems
irredeemable,
but even the most
shattered
damaged
broken
can be repaired
Ceaseless painful twists and turns,
Dying marrow aches and burns;
Suffer tougher case of bones
Wasting credits in help phones,
Doctors handling of ailment,
Tablets, capsules of treatment,
Patients dumping ornaments,
Seeking Foreign Liniments,
Osteopathy from movements,
Guessing patient's improvements...
Trouble wilder than Fracture,
Lessened focus on structure;
Deeply bothered Osteopath
Orthopaedic walks soft path;
Body trusted to heal self
Making challenge hurt oneself.
I feared for The Soon Traveling Fire,
When I saw who was going to drive:
Jack, who did thrice of men's lives deprive,
He himself lucky to be alive;
Now, with a left leg fracture does strive
And Lord God knows that's no way to thrive
Kept I trembling for the moving five;
If I were among them, bound to dive
When his Porsche wished not one to
Jack himself Electric wire live...
You enter his car, enters a beehive,
Minutes on end continue to jive:
"Fire you Thunder Ferdinand Jack
Knowledge of safest driving you lack...
Circler and sharp
Around and jagged
Disjoined in thought
Unfocused in point
Spinning out of control
Broken filaments of twine
Laced locked in gears
It is near the end of time
Nails of glass in iron stone
Refracts the light
Broken; flying fragments of night.
Cycles down into a spin
Over and over again
Out of control
A creation of gears in glass
An old broken compass
Nails nine inches long
Nine in all
Wire and springs
Metallic things
A fractured rage
Ice sickled sharp
Cuts neat and clean
Around and jagged
Disjointed thought
Unfocused image
Out of control
Over and over again
Raged the fragments of time
I tried to reach out, blink in silence and say my words, but there is a lost syllable and a forgiven diction. I buried my art, my passion.
I tried to tear my skin apart, carve in silence and swim in the blood, but there is a broken knife and a tired hand. I buried my sorrow, my passion.
i tried to hold your hand, glimpse in your heart and kiss it close, but there is a fragile door and the locks made of dead petals. i buried my love, my passion.
"I went back to the grave, holding your favourite lilies. I dig slowly beside you and reach the metal clank. I loved you passionately and obsessively.
The box handle creaks and opens, a canvas with dried blood stains, a half fractured knife and the unsent letters.
a lady walks up to me, handcuffs me back and requests that i slowly move away from the evidence and let go".
I buried your body, my passion.
At one with life
we watched ourselves unfold.
Seeds of thought
that grew a time between us.
Creating space in which
to watch our children grow
Floating on the sea
that is our soul.
Stirred into
a separation of life
We have become
lost hinterland voices,
A fracture from the whole.
Our poet eyes touched
by winds that carried us
like leaves,
Lost to our senses,
Joined forever
to changing seasons.
We are loosened
by each thought
Until we surrender
The last leaf’s breaking hold
Giving our ears back
to the sounding bark
Of beech trees calling,
falling into purpose
And the easy comfort
of our manufactured lives.
Liken to a rift that rips the landscape from under our feet.
Similar to isms or schisms separating the collective,
literally destroying the bond and togetherness that keeps the family as one.
The same unity which should bounds us by blood,
which should give us a sense of being; something so far, so elusive.
All sense of togetherness is all but non-existent leaving a
desolate and barren landscape,
rich once as land surrounding river Babylon.
Only if our hearts and our minds were thus…
I've seen beautiful before.
I've seen you on the inside a time or two,
a nice place to live that I guess no one can afford.
Today I see this little world from a different light..
(Cliche, I know)
maybe it is just an angle that differs?
Or maybe it is a concussion.
A fracture to the infrastructure of my existence,
my head or my heart?
I don't know which one.
Colors and objects standing still only mock me,
like they have more of a right to be here than I do.
And the particles and knots of wood and stone that stretch around my head
tell me that they know more than I do.
Am I really nothing like they say?
Tip-toeing around,
my movement only complicates things...
I'm fractured.
Please tell your demons to stop mocking me?
Life is but a fracture in time
A shiver of a grain of sand
Yet we look at it, as gods
Even though we are not gods
Imbecilic, that is what we are
And truly lost
There is no more grace in our existence
Merely an unknown
Was there ever true meaning, it is forever gone
And pain, yes pain is our god
We breed such to our own kind
To cause grief, to control
Life by the hand of power
And we fight to control this shiver
For the blink of power is absolute
Within ourselves, meaning evades
We become, an illusion to ourselves
We become, gods
Even though we are not gods
And what we have is unknown
Simply because it is no longer remembered
Life is but a second wasted
For all
If you so choose to follow this path
And the fracture dissimilates
Then we become the sand
And without meaning, without peace
There is no love
And without love there can be no life
We become gods
Because we have forgotten how to live.
~
By: Darren J McMurray
November 20, 2011
I
with
trib ute,
con trib ute-
never con tri bute
or dis tri bute con trov ersy
Damn these days of separation,
we both react out of desperation.
Where simple logic is thrown aside,
and dog eat dog reeks of self pride.
Trying to survive with no obligations,
loosing my mind knowing my past fixations.
My life had purpose my life had definition,
both of you my responsibility despite my minds condition.
I gave it my all almost always,
despite our differences lingering in the hallways.
Guilt-ridden I am, and don't know how else to feel,
wishing you'd disarm your anger at me so we can heal.
Can you understand that we're both hurting?
Both subjecting our hearts to perverting.
Are you going to hate me? Or let me back in?
The fracture of our hearts, proof of original sin.
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