there once was a girl
whose name was of a season;
the season of cold, of frost and snow
and in which bright fire embers could glow.


there once was a girl
whose name was of a season
the season that came
and brought the storm that stole away
what was left of her own little family.


there once was a girl
whose name was the one that
the freezing breeze whispered
one fateful windy day.


there once was a girl
whose name she couldn’t bear to hear
as it was the last word
she once heard her mother say.


there once was a girl
whose name was spread around
she was known as the girl
who took her own life
for the pain was too much
and the guilt was too strong
that she had died but they had gone.


there once was a girl
whose name now rests on a plaque
on many a snow-coloured bench
on the frosty streets
of the neighbourhood
that she had once called her home.


each time the season comes
people say they hear
the name of the girl
upon the frozen lips
of a mother gone away

                “Winter...”

My heart shattered
into eight pieces.
They lay there on my carpet.
Each one told me
a story.

one
My eyes meet yours
on that Monday afternoon.
I smile and so do you.

two
My hands run through your
hair as you kiss me
in the warm summer rain.

three
The sky is pink as we drive
down to the shore on your
black motorbike, laughing.

four
You're wearing a blue shirt
as we get drunk on
the thought of forever.

five
My ears are ringing from
all the screaming, I slide against
the door as you walk away.

six
My skin burns where you touched
me, you pack your clothes
in an old, weathered bag.

seven
Your lips are chapped when
you kiss me for the last time,
wrapping your arms around me.

eight
A picture flashes up on my computer,
I look at it until you're nothing
but a blurry memory.

.
A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It's the tears that trickle with radiance through words.
     It's a treasure trove that hides but longs to
     be found.
          It's a book shelved high that wants to
          be read.
               It's the freest of all birds caged but
               unbound...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It doesn't beat to the capable strokes of the artist.
     It doesn't pump in the most vibrant of
     colours.
          It doesn't wield a paintbrush to
          translate its thoughts.
               But it can see through the eyes of
               painters...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It doesn't conform to the conventional parameters of lyrics.
     It doesn't bind itself to the requirements
     of musical harmony.
          It doesn't follow the conventions of
          genres.
               But it sings its voice loud without
               restrictions of melody...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It's an open secret, that whispers in metaphoric codes.
     It's an exploding universe, that merges
     back into galaxies.
          It's a sought after painting, that boasts
          of unfathomable beauty.
               It's an everlasting song, that echoes
               within the poet that embodies...

Time heals all wounds
But I don't ever want to be
Healed from you

I want your wounds
Deep in my flesh
Your name on my breath
Your hands in my dreams
And your face in my nightmares
I'd rather be haunted by you
Than forget you
Rather live in sweet agony
Remembering trembling
And shallow breathing
Yearning and hopelessness
Home in your arms
I'd rather die a thousand times
Than forget this