Catherine Heath
October 2016
I can still taste your cigarette in my mouth--
Like the ash of fading dreams,
Nothing is what seems.
We deem this to be prudent,
The rude lies we tell ourselves
(Afraid of falling,
And so we're stalling).
The brawl of our emotions
Overcomes devotion
To propriety.
Society hinders natural progress--
But I digress,
To distract us for a time,
The leaden smile of girls who
Want to go somewhere,
But the fairness of hindsight
Does not reach as far as us.
Fumbling blind,
Unkind curses issue from mouths:
The loud, hoarse cackle
Of revellers, far away.
Stay awhile and converse
The worse we'll be for waiting
Start something!
Don’t turn back
For wanting
Less than ghosts of dreams,
Deemed worthy of repute
(Disputing veracity,
I’ll wager).
You weren’t in love with me--
Seducing shadows
Is our repertoire--
We’ll go too far before
The gulf of time
Is marked by seedy whispers
(Just a sigh).
We won’t turn back;
Wonder what we’ve lost
The prognostication
Is good but
We would not become heroes
If the way was easy,
And the breeze that blows
From yonder
Ponders all we’ve got.
Forgotten caresses
Sadden you,
And your heart is gladdened
When the seeping drink
Plugs that chink
In your ardour.
(The armour of one
Drunk on love).
In the past lurks shadows,
But you’re still my hero.
Perhaps I was mistaken--
This path I’ve taken
Riddled with rot;
Begot with lies--
Lance the wound!
Someday soon,
I’ll forget you, too.
We all have to let go one day
But the pain
Is all we know.
Boys mature to men,
Cavort with stormy passions.
Solidify your genius;
Sorrow of Narcissus
Gazing deep into the pool...
Hypnotised by
Beautiful reason,
Sudden symmetry
In face of certain death.
Awake! Awake! She says.
Not a peak, it's a plateau--
It's all about control.
That's why they're drawn
To histrionic girls,
Sketched out in lines
Slowly rubbing out.
The final curtain call.
“Come down off the clouds,”
Proud angels say:
“This life is not today.”
Take a cold, hard look
At the book you’re holding.
Turn the page,
In our old age, we find
The book we read
Was not our own.
The words he said,
We’ve now outgrown.
The mould-covered grammar
Stammers along to tunes
Artfully composed
Without you.
Ethereal smoke
Burnt into imagination;
Shadows of people
Ingrained in memory.
Insubstantial touching
Reaching up to heights
Of ecstasy.
Pretensions of love,
Or extensions from above,
Before sick dawning horror
Precludes redemption.
Hanging bows from
Hanging dolls--
Execution toys
Are worse than boys.
Credit: Photo by Brandon Hoogenboom on Unsplash
