Scratches On My Skin

The light was neither from Heaven or Hell, and the lost city behind me caught fire in the sunset, blazing behind these strange clouds. The smoke drifted past, and in it doing so, I caught the glimpses of faces and places, of voices, of lovers lost and won. Of friends near and far, close and distant in both proximity and to my heart. This black hole, which has been here since the beginning of time has moved me in ways that life couldn't.
But now I have nowhere left to run, here at the End of the World, my eyes feel heavy, and I want nothing more than to nap on the mossy banks beneath me, eclipsed by the sea, the abyss and the hiding, blinding sun.

Scratches On My Neck

The sea in front of me was cold, and I could hear it crying - weeping sorrowful waves that lapped against a burdened shoreline. Angelic choruses resounded all around, echoing from the light and shadows that emit from the strangely coloured, almost ethereal clouds. The black hole still hungrily sucking in all that it could. I wish I knew more about this place, and how I got here, and why there are others here too, watching their fate be consumed by something they don't know.

Scratches On My Face

I finally saw the end of the world - an abrupt, vast hole of nothingness that sucked all the emotion from me, bits of cities and memories floated past, sucked into the atomos. The wind violently blowing my hair and long coat, as I stood on the edge of the world, wondering if jumping towards the darkness, I would fall or float.

After The Lunch

I came across this beautiful poem being read aloud by the beautiful Sophie Dahl (who I've since developed a big, big crush on) on her cookery programme that I was watching clips of on YouTube to procrastinate from exam revision. What do you think?

On Waterloo Bridge where we said our goodbyes,
the weather conditions bring tears to my eyes.
I wipe them away with a black woolly glove
And try not to notice I've fallen in love

On Waterloo Bridge I am trying to think:
This is nothing. you're high on the charm and the drink.
But the juke-box inside me is playing a song
That says something different. And when was it wrong?

On Waterloo Bridge with the wind in my hair
I am tempted to skip. You're a fool. I don't care.
the head does its best but the heart is the boss-
I admit it before I am halfway across

Wendy Cope

Post Title Here

Just wanted to very quickly share a link to a poem I've become fascinated and intrigued by - Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening, there's just something about it, I'm going to sleep now as it's gone 2am here and I have a six hour shift tomorrow! Bisous mon ami.

Triangles

I wear my heart like a crown of thorns
And as steady as each morning's promised sunrise
I'll keep you in my thoughts, in my mind

Irony

I'm scorched and I'm blind
You're a Goddess of the sun
Because you light up my life
And everything in
It

The Only Love Story

i met you on the shoreline at promised
your face twisted by my words 
cut deep and each line and wrinkle
was a chance where i could have turned it all around
the lapping sea spoke for both of us
and i just watched as your hair caught the wind
blowing away from you and from us towards a break in the clouds
you shook your head lightly, looking at the barren sands, and whispered something that would now be a secret to only the ocean

at that point i wept, and my heartbeat raced in-time with my thoughts.  

The 5.15am to Stockholm

the snow fell lightly as we hugged for what i knew would be the last time - under the great oak tree where we first met. it was acutely quiet, and our hushed, rushed voices seem to echo in unison with those of the Angels around us as finely powdered snow parachuted onto my lips.
you kissed me lightly, your warm familiarity melting the flakes from my trembling mouth. the last memory of your kaleidoscope eyes was a music box of red hot flashbacks - roadtrips, sun-kissed adventures and afternoons getting high with our friends in your back garden. of sights and sounds, laughter and frowns, this was the bridge that led us to you leaving me.
“but i don’t want to fall asleep with a broken heart…” i said with heavy breath. you pulled me close to your athletic frame, your hands on the small of my back and roaming through my hair. it was there, right there, a few hours before you had to board that plane, that i fell both in and out of love with you again. 

Bridges Over Water

and she leant in and whispered with a voice most sincere:

“keep hope close to your chest, for it may not be there at the end of your journey”

she was what feathered wings and my poorly painted heartstrings couldn’t keep away, the final stretch of sunset’s horizon on a long day.

Where We First Met

1am’s bitter coffee has gone cold
and love still comes too late
it’s been something like six days now
yet i sit here for you every night
i sit here and wait 

can you remember when we crossed paths here early on that fateful day? i’d just come here for a pick-me-up, you were trying to run away. you said you’d come back to see me when you’d sorted everything out, you then ran for the bus. my swimming eyes longing for the sight of you, longing for another “us”.

Loveless

my eyes were made of stained glass
which 
smashed
as i softly collapsed
blindly into you
and all the things that you do

We've All Been Here

your voice is the chorus and echo
on a tear stained bed
e-mails left unanswered
& texts left unread 

Ambience

…and i felt the world pass me by
with a sky like a renaissance painting
the rain soaked grass told me to keep searching
and i counted their blades that made up the distance
between me and you 

Clasped Hands

it’s cost me a fortune in thoughts to get here
and the time apart from you was like the snow clipping my skin as it flung past me in such a hurry
i nearly lost myself with it

Stories To Tell

i dug my nails into your palms as i cried and cried, knowing some things are just too good to remain. the heavy autumn breeze drifted up the sleeves of my trenchcoat and i heard a rip of thunder across the sky and not once did you cry.

not once did you cry.

Our Planet's Craves & Crazes

my mouth is dry like the end of the desert i have just reached
ice cream coloured stars on the horizon
i think of you, tucked in bed far away, of your tender touch on my back. out here i hear the wind, but not what it has to say to me.
across the desert lands lies something deadly. travelling gave me a rush, from the seven continents on earth there still wasn't a view that took me away like this one. the dangerous horizon, the stars leaking colour into one another, that mixtures of sparks and passion. 

Gloves, Doves And The Snow

"quick! quick! you have to see this!" he yelled, fur coat flying behind him as his shiny locks of brunette hair raced away in slow motion, running and running, until he reached a metal gate.
the sight of it made me shudder, for it bought back painful secondary school memories, the same smell of lynx deodorant and vomit in the rain. he gazed back at me with a chiseled smile, beckoning me over with fur lined gloves.
my does eyes became sleepy.
he put his right arm around my shoulder, in a close yet distant fashion, i could feel the electricity of excitement running through him.
"if we clear this field and go over those shrubs, we'll be in Heaven."
"Heaven? As in, Heaven where you go when you die?"
he nods, his teeth nearly as white as the snow.
"But why would we want to go there yet? We're both still so young..." I felt weak at the knees, and my blonde hair picked up on the wind.
"But we're already dead. It's regret and remorse you feel! We've been wandering and searching too long for this."
He climbs the gate and I climb too. The light over the horizon grows brighter and brighter, and I see weathers on the wind, doves amongst them-

and i now see the snow for what it is. 

The Dog & The Night Sky

i was one my walk home once, the frost burned and nipped at my skin, pulling my black leather gloves closer to me - a gift from you (like i do to you), and my long white scarf which i knitted myself, sewing small gemstones of parts of me into the material.
i came to the small green by the turn in the road, and there i saw a stray dog. it was a labrador to be exact, pretty elderly, with cream-coloured white fur. it didn't notice me and my knee high boots coming to a complete halt, silent ike a snake, for it was too busy sniffing in nearby shubbery. tonight was bold and starry, with what i swore millions, soothing down their glowing beams onto us, blessing us less worthy than them.
but what i noticed over the dog, including his unusual white, oily looking fur, was how the moon shone down on it, one perfect beacon from the Heavens placing its light pride of place on the dogs back. the dog sniffed and poked at the bushes slowly, like he knew, like he acknowledged all of this in the same silent manner the moon had. us humans don't deserve such a moment of radial grace, and even has my flames of red hair blew in the wind and my lips pouted on autopilot from the cold, i knew i too, did not deserve this.
the dog disappeared into the shrubbery and i saw the next breath i exhaled form a knight in white armour into the air, valiantly following the dog into its new adventure.
from that i knew, that one day too, i would deserve the moons graces.

today at work whilst serving on tills, i was talking with a customer who had just graduated university with a literature degree, and was telling her that i was thinking of ideas to put into a "giftbox" for a certain friend for christmas, and whilst explaining one aspect of it, she wrote down two authors for me to look into: pablo neruda, and erick manela, which was incredibly kind of her.
i won't lie, i hadn't heard of either author before she wrote them down so this made me even more excited to be able to check out more unknown literature. after food shopping when my shift was over, i unpacked my bags as quickly as i could and jumped on google to do some research, and my - what finds! neruda's poetry is just as good as the girl stated, but unfortunately i wasn't able to find the other guy. perhaps she wrote his name down wrong? or am i being dumb? a combination of both? who knows. but for now, i leave you with a poem from neruda, called "perhaps not to be, is to be without your being"

Perhaps not to be is to be without your being, without your going, that cuts noon light like a blue flower, without your passing later through fog and stones, without the torch you lift in your hand that others may not see as golden, that perhaps no one believed blossomed the glowing origin of the rose, without, in the end, your being, your coming suddenly, inspiringly, to know my life, blaze of the rose-tree, wheat of the breeze: and it follows that I am, because you are: it follows from ‘you are’, that I am, and we: and, because of love, you will, I will, We will, come to be.