His Ball of Twine

Entwined within his mind
an unraveled line of thoughts
like spaghetti on a marbled top
is nothing, without a sauce.

Congealing mess
this clumping stress
which jells
leaving sentiment behind
a stickiness
to his noodle soup
and hardening of the mind.

A ball of twine
wrapped too tightly
in a sloshing mental brine
unraveling knots
an idea caught
unable to define.

Then woven is the chemistry
of electrolytes, which flow
to a medium that joins      
a connection between the dot's
as his ball of twine - unwinds.

Snarled

Deep beneath the forest floor
under trampled rotted leafs
- of a fallen life.
Tucked between the "snarled" lips
lays the roots of man and tree.
Sits a scratching post…
surround by gnarled bones
- of memories.
Where the jackal waits  
- nocturnally
- in me.

May Bloom

Once upon a time, I stood so tall
but now I often - well, sometimes
I fall, and wither to the ground.

I never used to be like this
all dried and twisted in my thoughts.

There were goals and rainbows
which never seemed to end….
but then, the colours of my life
began to bend - and twirl
….around the moon.

When I was just a boy
at the window, in my room
it all seemed so fun back then
until a shadow passed in gloom.

Did I ever mention
that I once stood so tall
I thought I had it all.

I used to think, if she -
would only hold my hand
wouldn’t life be grand.

I'm pretty sure
I'd be standing tall - then
like a flowered stalk
and her the sun.

Well, I'll just sit here for a while
perhaps I'll make a castle
and gather all my thoughts
in a court yard - where all my dreams
May bloom.

Mornings Dawn

Each mornings dawn
I search, while listening -
to the pattered beat.

My racing heart
which drums…. …. ….
and seeks.

For a glimpse, just a peek
of you.

This ache, I understand
pain, without a jab
ribs, which take my breath away
a thumb to plug the dyke
and wash me -
with your gentle hands.

I want to wake
each mornings dawn
knowing that you're there
not gone.

The brightness of my life
is dim -
without you, I have
no morning dawn.

I Hear A Bird That Whispers

This little heart which cries
to each beat upon a quiet storm
a tear drips, from withered high.

Her feathers wrapped
she cuddles to her breast
while others stand aloft
chirping - unconcerned
about her solitude
or the salty dew
in the mornings nest.

But far away - I hear
a broken heart which patters
and a little bird that cries
I hear a bird that whispers
and a little pieces of me…. just dies.

Delicate, my songbird
she matters more to me
then all the other birds
who simply fly…. on by.

No longer do I wish to hear
the whispers or the tears
I want to look towards the sky
so I can see my little bird
now flying……way up high.

------------------------------------

When you finally see the blue
the sun inside will shine
and then my little songbird
 - so will I

Residual Goodbyes

His thoughts lounge upon his day
with feet up - resting….
sunken deep into the grey - of mind.

A familiar comfort
with the unfamiliarity - of time.

Hands dragged through layers
as his watchful eye -~- ticks…away
an unconscious act, of a nervous cat
twitches, to a face at play.

The neuron scurries……
across the cluttered floor
a nervous jump, to a startled door
and the edge of seat…. - sinks.

He stands - unsure of why
to bruised aches, of memories
a deep breath - a sigh
of these….. residual
goodbyes.