The darkest hour of every night
When the evening star does shine
The moon, the sun, colliding
My mind, your touch, our hearts
Brighter than the brightest sun
Warmer than the hottest desert
Buy why are we here
In this horrid place
Where the sky's never see the day
The stars never see night
Yelling and screaming does us no use
Our violent screams and beligerent abuse
Healings in our time
Or what we have left
So let's not waste it
Pretending to be friends
The brightest hour of every morning
When thoughts of you creep in my mind
I smile but then cry, because you're no longer mine
But this heart is what is ours.

Cigarettes* ignited
       sips of champagne.
Naked; smoking,
       playing ebony & ivory,
       piano stories
Singing souls of ghosts
        & secrets.
Broken rainbows form & flee,
        light catching green
Hazel eyes, tear drops,
       of love; forming
       drowning oceans.
Planting forests; replacing
        papier- mâché covering
        a blackened heart,
Of a lonely girlfriend
        wrapping herself in a
        lovers left
        winter jumper.
Full exposure; a camera lens
        focused in on clouds
        dissipating.
Window panes,
         pouring mirrored drops
         of translucent balloons.
Wishing dreams
          of,
Letting
          go.
Lift her,
           to that place named,
           silence.

© Sia Jane

I tried reaching you, your eyes caught my sight
But you never gave in to the temptation you were facing
My face kept showing in your retina

It felt as if I was your soul mate
You would always look away when I braced you & your friends with my presence

It kind of felt like I was pushing you away as you would look bored, but fortunately, you ended up falling for me

My intentions with you are different from your experiences
I'm not of this world; so my paint brush was heavenly made by the creator of the heavens and earth

Little hands.
Like mother.
And a cheeky smile
Like me.
I'm so proud to be
Your father.
No-one means
So much to me.

715

The World—feels Dusty
When We stop to Die—
We want the Dew—then—
Honors—taste dry—

Flags—vex a Dying face—
But the least Fan
Stirred by a friend’s Hand—
Cools—like the Rain—

Mine be the Ministry
When they Thirst comes—
And Hybla Balms—
Dews of Thessaly, to fetch—

I want to read you

Like the fine print

In the Terms and Conditions

Written in Braille

So I can feel

Every word written

On your heart

Feels like you.

Or a whiskey bottle.

Two things.

I get drunk on too often.