Better than you would have

Train tracks decrepit

worn and lost for 

lust and hunger which

feed starving men 

on hold for hours 

losing life, losing time;

so much for love

and the touch of one

but hopelessness stays

unavoidable and piercing

like sun on skin

peeling and burnt 

red and raw

worse than salt

in an open wound.

Driving

Because it matters more that I am back
behind the wheel
driving on roads
with potholes and cracks,
road barriers in place
and then we talk till dusk
when the world turns away
rolls over and sleeps
and we keep driving
on roads with
potholes and cracks.
road barriers in place
because it matters more
that I am back
behind the wheel
and I'll get us there
I promise you, I will.

Songs Intertwined

Nothing's as it was before

I don't dictate how the future comes and goes. It just changes as it likes and unfolds in ways I don't expect it to.

I know I won't see you again

Have I had things my way, there would have been a lot more conversations about how things fell and disintegrated in our hands. And there would have been more understanding...on my part.

the feelings that we used to know

It's all gone now, right? It's all gone.

Different Sides

Farewells on Platform 6

[standing on Platform 6, for the train bound for Portsmouth Harbour]

Perhaps there was something
left unsaid
as you boarded the train
to somewhere not far away.
The farewells squandered
by the rush of time and quick footsteps
on platforms. Concrete, brick,
cement, metal all play unwitting games
on the mind as time moves too
quickly. It moves like
it has a mind of its own
forgetting how life swallows
friends, family
love.
And so a wave goodbye
is slowly forgotten
as she is left on the platform
that slowly disappears behind a bend
and in time it all goes,
memories dissolving into pasts
dying like roses in winter
and then withering away
silently into nothing.
And in your hand you hold
that last goodbye
which was destined to die
almost like how you did
on a train bound for nowhere.

Tempestuous

Unpublished

Here's the letter you never read
and I never sent:

Dear you,

I think this is a letter long overdue - it's been more than a year and, in fact, it's approaching two and you still haven't heard from me. But that doesn't matter, does it? I mean we were like two lines travelling towards each other and then missing the contact point and continuing on elsewhere.

Dear you,

I think you never cared. There was a cold silence in the room next door as I packed up to leave. You never asked or perhaps, never even wondered what my next adventure was going to be. I suppose it wouldn't be any of your business but it would have been nice to know that a passing of presence would still play on your mind as I left for good.

Dear you,

We are beyond apologies. They lie stagnant at the tip of our tongues - they've been rendered redundant by time and they're now forgotten, unspoken, like your mind and the memory of me. I guess you can forget now just like how I've forgotten...but not forgiven. Apologies may no longer mean anything but the resentment will still stand like gravestones pitched over the grave of my memory of you.

So here is this letter which you will never read. It lies somewhere at the back of my mind - an undelivered message born out of disgust and dirt - but it's okay. I mean every word of it.

Yours truly
The Author of the Letter that was Never Written

In Surrey

In Surrey
many things are found
in the form of
people and places
and sometimes
people in places,
in darkened pubs and bars
lit by candles
and cigarette butts
of unnerved smokers.
Sometimes you meet
a person in a place
under unexpected
circumstances
and you weren't ready
so they catch you off-guard
and you're left gaping
and frightened
of the unknown
and the unpredictability
that only time will unveil.
So, sorry my friend
you left too soon
under your own
circumstance, but
there was so much that
came after you went
that to talk about it
would be undermine its
significance because here
in Surrey is a story
that begins so suddenly
that neither person nor place
can wholly explain.

I think you know

Over there.........................

............................................there....................

I did tell you where............

You chose to ignore

like you always do

blanking me out 

when I tell you things 

you don't want to hear

Shall I sing you a tune

It goes like this:

Look how they shine for you. Look how they shine for you. Look for how they shine

Look at the stars...look at how they shine for you...

I think you know.

Distance

This is where time spans over space
through heavy breaths of engines,
motors and nothingness. In a void
we fly and you disappear from my sight
into distance and far-ness until you became
nothing but a memory
barely within reach. Where did you go
beyond those hills and plains?
Will I see you again
waving across waters
so vast we couldn't hold our breaths?
Maybe we were meant to be lost
without a trace
into the back of minds
and unenvisioned thoughts
where all we have are tattered visions
of what could have been
and the silence of knowing it's all lost
and not to be found.
Where did you go? I'm still looking
for you in the dark
lost like children
left astray in fields
too small to see
beyond the blades.

Nights

Skies dim in the evening
and I remember the halls darkening.
The girls come back
scantily dressed in bikinis and rags
and grass blades on their legs
when no one was home
but a darkened corridor
and a creaking door to greet them.
It's lonely on the marshes
where the boys sat
on their own, by the swings
wishing they were by themselves
but no
they return
to scantily dressed girls
in bikinis and rags
and a darkened corridor
and a creaking door.
It's never been lonelier
surrounded by others
only to wish there was
maybe, perhaps
a way out.

Where did you go?

How do people disappear
out of sight
somewhat
out of mind
until brought to light
in death and loss.
Where did you go
when I wasn't watching?
On to the tracks,
wandering aimlessly
tripping over planks
and pebbles
which cut
and graze - and suddenly
you're gone
in the breeze
of a passing train,
headlights and all
and there isn't a sign
you were once there,
just a memory
so distant
so abstract
that we can't cry,
but just stand
gaping
in disbelief.

Broken Kitchen Tiles

We've over-stepped boundaries

and it's broken. Like tiles on a kitchen floor

worn and tired, they give way

under the weight of nothing;

fragile like glass that cuts

so deep. Blood is drawn, under

the weight of emotions

that run unbeknownst to

you and me. And then

it mends itself, in the hand

and in the heart like a

miracle which judges not by the past

but what is had now, hopefully

better than what was 

and better than what would ever be.