Stitches

There they are again,
The first few stitches
Of my battlefront
Threatening to come undone
To unravel my defense
Until it falls away
Completely
And I'm forced to start again,
To pick up knitting needles off the ground,
Like swords
Or wands
And out of thin air,
And invisible wool
Tie the first few stitches
The first of too many
But somehow, still never enough
I haven't met the last few stitches
They always run away from me
Shy,
Uncertain of the unpredictable.

Night and light

I wonder what you see,

When you close your eyes at night.

What is unable to survive,

And must hide itself in the light.

The Temple

Most of the time,
You’ll find nobody here
But some of the time,
You’ll see somebody here

Perhaps a man, just like me,
Carefully reading the book
So many choose to ignore,
Without offering a second look

I know the feeling,
I’ve known it a while
You see, not ignoring me,
Is permanently out of style

Written as an interpretation of this photo by Timothy Robinson. Check out the real story by clicking on the photo!

August 2013

He asked me the question
That reached deep into my soul,
And handed him a part
Without my control

A question I'd never asked myself
But had always known the answer to
And now he knew,
Too

Unfazed

The sun shone bravely
Through the cold winter air
Unfazed by the mystery,
He may stumble upon there

Where stray dogs
In their restless sleep
Dream of kinder days
And weep.

My attention

My attention dove off a cliff,
A mountain high in the sky
He used aeroplanes as stepping stones,
He'd always wanted to try

He saw his face in the wind,
It wasn't clear at first
An eye at a time, an ear
And then all in a burst

The spaces between the clouds,
Asked him again to stay
He knew he had to go,
But would visit another day

Tell your alarm when to wake,
He's fond of sleeping too
It's purely unintentional,
If he sleeps right through