Monochrome.

There are days when the longing for what once was
Overcomes the pleasure in what is now.
There are days when the times gone by sing their
Lament in your ears, and block the sound of the
Soft day breathing. There are days, there are days.
If you have never loved, or never lost, then you
Cannot know the same days.
You will know days, you will ignore days,
Some days you will cry with a pain that was born
When neolithic man walked this earth, and
Will find that pain unbearable, and so sharp,
And so cold and so hot, you will know those days.
Others will know other days, when the softing light
That filters through the silken grey of winter clouds
And caresses you with ethereal limbs, and strokes
The warmth into a chilled submission, and when the
Memories engage in a macabre dance of death,
Those days will seep into your heart, and sap
The hope from your very soul.
The days when the longing for what once was
Is so strong that you feel yourself bending and
Breaking, your roots are torn free from solid ground,
And you are tossed on a torrent of grief and regret
That crashes and roars and carries you unwilling
All the way down to the infinite sea.
There are days.

© 2ndwitch, 06/03/15

Pain is black and red and spiky.

Stop this merry-go-round, pause this roundabout, I want to get off.
Stop swinging the swings, swinging is making me sick.
Flatten the slides, let me stay on solid and stable ground
For a few hours, or even a few days.
Please?
When the world spins around in dizzying circles, throwing
The unsuspecting hitchhiker out towards infinite space,
And then halts, and changes direction, and the finger tip
Grip on reality is loosened, and the ground shakes and trembles,
When the noise of living is deafening, and the colours of the
Noise are glaring and flashing, like neon lights,
Beating an uneven rhythm on my mind,
Then, then, yes then, I need the world to stop revolving.
I need time to halt, I need to suspend in space
And not be for a while.
No-one will let me.
They make me carry on.
And then I scream, and cry, and try to tear the pain from
Beneath my skin, digging in nails to gouge it out in lumps
And to let the agony bleed into the parched earth.
That is when I cannot be as you want me to be,
And that is when you tell me I am wrong,
I have failed, and in failing I am failing further,
And falling, falling, falling, through the cracks,
No arms are held out to catch me, no-one hears
Me when I scream and cry for help.
And then I want it all to stop.
I wish I was not.

© 2ndwitch, 19/02/15

Position vacant.

The space sits, vacant, empty, waiting
For something to fill it.
The space is silent, filled with the
Screams and howls of lost souls.
The space is a cacophony,
Made up of the noiseless grimaces of pain
And loss.
The space is within each one of us.
Some of us are afraid.
Some of us seek the space.
Some of us embrace the space.
Some of us seek to fill the space.
In all of us is the space.
And all of us are within the space.

© 2ndwitch, 17/02/15