Entry to your Heart

Where is the entrance to your heart one way in one way out and I don’t know where to start, let alone till death us do part? Chat to you, walk in the park, wine and dine you, the dating lark, but deep within you hold it all in, tucked away in its warm safe cabin. Not daring to venture out, it can’t take another clout. Any explorer you ignore keeping secrets and strangers apart.

Tired of questions of robbers of heart, borrow your feelings and depart leaving them scattered all over your heart. Silence is your wall you build high so it won’t fall, crashing down like tears of a clown vulnerable and broken, used, yet another token.

Smash and grab, or knock on the entrance for ever and a day, thick barricade keeps me at bay, nothing to say, it’s safer that way; leaving the hurt locked away, hoping someday it may decay taking the anger and dismay. The exit is open for explorers to run away, exit from your heart before we even start. Tell me darling what is the key to unlock the door for you and me, so your true colours in a rain bow we see, sharing the pot of gold just between you and me.

Heatwave

Cool breeze ruffles the tops of the trees swaying leaves with ease, cooling breath on my naked top chilling my sweat from my slumber so hot. Heat mist hanging above the ground hazing everything around, promising heat and sun to come, warming up as the day runs. Sun reflects off Chrome and glass overhead the hot orb passes, subdued light through sunglasses.

Radiant heat beats down from the sky Polaroids coving the eyes. Sweating body burning red, wet hair from the heat on your head, heatwave like a day in the med. Water bottled, ice cold touch, gulped down in desperation, never enough.

Finding shade to pause and rest, wringing the wet out of my vest, wispy chill upon my chest. Shadow moves with the progress of the day, finding another cool spot to stay, Oasis from the rays of the day, dappled shade of mottled facade where flickering sun comes to play. After the high pressure at the middle of the day, intense heat starts to fade away, red fiery sun setting on the edge of sight explosion of orange leads into the night. Leaving a dull glow waiting for the moon to show, warmth remains in small vanes, evening chill permeates window panes.

 

Revenge

Revenge is sweet and means you are not beat, turning up the heat your aggressor to meet. Yet is your enemy really there, are you really aware? Do you know who the aggressor is or are you just acting while in a tiz.

Forgiving them is the hardest thing, blaming is an easier game. Lashing out at any one who is about because your angry and can’t shout, is not the way to go about. Your fear is misplaced you act like your aggressor, lashing out at anyone who gets in your way, come what may.

When you sit in your cell locked away, this is the small price you must pay, think of the victims who live with this every single day. When humanity is stretched at the edge and it begins to fray, just walk away and come back another day.

 

©All rights reserved Mark Symmonds 2017

Fakes

You do these evil deeds in the name of religion, not one which I know of, one that says that you should kill and maim innocent people who you don’t even know. The one that inside, hatred it grows, that’s right the one that no one else knows.

You Give it a name and it’s the will of your god you claim, yet your actions bring it shame. Whatever the scripture that you follow says, peace is always the way, help your fellow man, it’s all part of the big plan. So, you must be a fake to cause misery for your god’s sake.

Satan, chief spirit of evil, adversary of god, has evil in him but even he is not that grim. So, for all our sakes recognize your god is fake, and this life is opaque. Fellow man this world serves all different gods but they do not kill at will to be a martyr. Satan must have touched you and told you he is true, conning you in the form of god which he hopes you will pursue.

©All rights reserved Mark Symmonds 2017

 

 

Aftermath

No homes, no aid from a government decayed, food and clothes and shelter a community has paid, where was the establishment to come to their aid, to put lives back together, they lost everything they made. Ten pounds per person, the insult worsens, where is the money donated by other human persons?

A room for the night warm and safe, is that too much to ask; when if you miss a holiday flight, hotels abound; four hundred people with nowhere to live, the irony is profound. The scandal of abandonment, leave them to rot, community cohesion has decided not. Government officials make their excuses home they go to a warm bed and behave like recluses, there are no reasonable excuses.

Subclass comes to the for rocking the country to its core, too big a gap between rich and poor, all because you draw the short straw. Victorian values heaped on the poor. This should not be happening not even in war what do we pay or taxes for. Kill all the subclass make them weak, don’t give them houses they desperately seek. Rich man’s world turned upside down by a blaze in a block on the other side of town.

©All rights reserved Mark Symmonds 2017

Do I ?

Do I live in your heart or is it just a resting place, just at the start? Do I flow through your body as a life force weaving its certain course, showing no remorse? Do I beat in time with you and in your body, meet? Do you breathe me in, taste me just like gin, bath in me till I’m in every hollow, in me do you wallow?

Do I flicker in your head before you go to sleep in bed, thoughts that stay with you moving through your body free falling like lead? Do I slide under your skin coating your body with a layer so thin? Do I sit within your ear silently, do you hear me and do you see me through those eyes, through those salty tears stored up through the years?

Do I come to you at night when your fears come out to play, or will you choose to face them alone and push me out the way? Will, I be in your soul when you face the hardest days and will that soul let me roll around in your haze, bringing peace and harmony when you are in a daze? Will you take all of me, not just what you see, and spread me around yourself like a suit of armour made to protect your health? When the day is long and life is but a bore will you call my name, asking of me for more?

Past Midnight

Past midnight when noises are impolite and horror and doom loom in every sight. Past midnight when some are waiting for their plight, many will give up the long fight. Past midnight the darkest sight room lit atmospheric hit. Rolling clouds and tightening shrouds, owls and foxes shout aloud.

Shivers run down your spine, checking around to see what you can find, hoping you get back home just fine. Past midnight, the haunting time, when memories and thoughts combine, helping to pass the time. Clock flicks around in blurred glow, watching midnight come and go. Past the witching hour when ghosts and devils scour and the new darkness devours, lying awake listening to cracks and bumps until the small hours.

Heart races, imagined faces, mysterious places, longing to make it to morning, you try to stop yawning wishing the day was dawning. The shadows shrink and slowly nighttime sinks and devils and ghosts are a distant memory, to which you play host. Relief at the sun, night thief, darkness retracting its teeth to leave the joy of a new day to dance and jump and play. But, you know the darkness is all but finished and has only temporarily diminished, for tonight the darkness will return and in your mind, you will burn