in an inflatable raft riding
the ocean swells. Above grey
sky and a flock of circling
gulls. Blinded by the mist

rising out of the sea
like a lemon twist
in the martini. The heaving
breast, the biting of the wind

put this elfin body in
a tight tailspin. Waves slapping
this face. Shark bait if this body
doesn’t drown. Screams cannot

be heard. There’s nobody
around. A flash of lightening
puncturing the raft. Madness sets
in. Drink it up and laugh.

The kingdom of silence is opening its
Gates for the wounds of
Light.

Where has the scrawny,
***** father gone in
All these years? Talk of
Cigarettes; Then the father
Vanished in lies; leaving a son
Behind.

That son was usually looking for
Letters under the heads of the
Ancients; at that he rummaged
The hair of graceful mothers,
Addicted to diamonds, coldhearted:
Generous and benevolent to the son.

Thirty-eight years later, an invincible
Wound remained where the kingdom
Of silence used to be: A wound having
The textur of a mirage, a
Misperception of scorn and emptiness.

It's a dark place again,
where humans lay their 9 to 5 hands
on concrete dreams for them to dare plan
but never to achieve,
for even a glimpse of a moment,
for the fracture of a canvas with no end.

© fey (16/08/24)

if only we could exist
for a single moment
at only one place
for only a memory
that would be solely ours

but we are flesh and blood
we travel and continue
to exist at different times
in different places
we cannot seem to stop
yet we believe
our existence
is extraordinary

when will we realise
that even the extraordinary
is ordinary?

Pain is inevitable,
Suffering is optional.
The crossroads of success,
Is always constructional.

If we could become tress,
Solid and stoic, deep rooted
In Mother Earth's flesh;
We could stand firm
Through the tempest, unswayed.

But we are only humans.
Covered in darkness.
Hiding behind our fears,
Timidly withdrawing from
The ominous tempest.

So, embrace the fury,
The daunting gales that
Once were scary.
After all, you can't
Stop the waves,
But you can learn to surf.

And even if you sank,
Deeper into the void,
At least you'll drown
Knowing there was
Beauty In The Struggle.

If my love could heal,
the faded traumas
which adorn your skin
would expire

If my love could heal,
you wouldn't pleasure yourself
to the idea
of her suicide

If my love could heal,
you'd feel your mother's absent love
through the cracks
in my lips

If my love could heal,
maybe I'd learn to heal myself
before others

And then maybe;
I would've healed myself
before a predator

The water laps eagerly at the stony bank,
the sun peeks her rays around a passing cloud.
My skin drinks deeply of both,
pruned toes and tanned chest.
The kayak gently bobs
in the shallow wake from the breeze.
Mithrandir falls below Moria,
I put down the book and reach
for a beer.
The resident swan has been paddling
little laps at a safe distance from me.
I catch him looking at me
side-eyed, flipping his head back and forth.
I make kissy sounds and hold my hand out,
he comes over to see if I have any bread for him.

It's nice here. Little fish pick dead skin from my legs.
It's nice here. My shoulders don't get sore from paddling anymore.
It's nice here.
I do this almost
every day.