Shower Senate

Time to put the universe to rights,
I shed my fabric skin,
The shower opens up,
The senate has begun,

In this congress of glass,
The water pours,
I establish my assertion,
To the shampoos present,

To the bottle senators in the room,
To the shower gels and sponges,
I pontificate,
And argue astutely,

With a confidence,
Invisible at all other times,
And a shrewd reasoning,
That drains away as the aqua ceases,

All clean,
I’ve won the argument,
I’ve cracked the problem,
The water is their applause,

It fades down the drain.

Cultist

I’m a cult of one,
An acolyte of the written word,
Cloaked in a dressing gown robe,
I sit at this altar,
This writing desk,
My sacrificial pen in my clutches,

I begin the ritual,
My bloodshot mind’s eye,
Calls to dark places,
This page is the sacrifice,
To the voices between worlds,
The leaden weight of baneful gods,

By the end,
I am all sweat and aches,
The ritual is complete,
The words are on the damned page,
Creative aether,
Madness in letters.

An Eccentric Friend

Looking out to sea,
Reminds me of your face,
Each wave a memory,
Ashen is my face,
Since you left,

You returned to the fatherland,
I never heard your voice again,
Why did you vanish?
Do you miss me?
Do you even remember me?

You were a complicated soul,
At war with yourself,
But I adored you all the same,
You had a pretty form,
That screamed nonconformist,

Do you remember that night?
Among the gravestones,
When we first kissed,
You were never a lover,
But you were my true friend,

We were a pair,
Of eccentric clowns,
Dancing in the worlds misery,
Ballet in the sunless streets,
Nobody else could make me dance,

I won’t dance again.

Phrenitis

In my minds eye,
I see myself,
In the coming years,
Down on my luck,
In the brumal months,
Cloaked in a ragged greatcoat,

Among the dreary remains,
Of a night in a haze,
A melancholy stupor,
Initiated by the barman,
But not of his design,
A tap of liquid misery,

Will they find me in the gutter?
Slouched with my whisky friends,
Bottles of woe,
Among the scents of ethanol,
And spoils of spilled amber,
Spirits on the stones,

And when it comes to the grim autopsy,
Will the cause of death be phrenitis?
Or a broken heart?

Canine Thirst

In these trying times,
We are as hounds,
Fear has us becoming dogs,
With a canine thirst,
And a hyena hunger,

Society has become a pound,
Social distance growling,
Crawling around,
With an absent master,
Scavenging from the agora,

We feast ceaselessly,
In our doghouses,
With our mates,
And our feeble pups,
Our pack at home,

The dog bowls run low,
We pant from the panic,
Only animals afterall,
Beholden to primal urges,
We are as hounds,

A thought howls to my mind,
I do wonder,
How long until we feast upon each other?

Mother

My mum,
Mother,
The strongest woman I know,
You offer me unparalleled succor,
Protecting me,
Teaching me,
Thank you a million times over,

Wherever you are,
Is home to me,
You brought me into this world,
And now you help me through it,
A stable hand on my shoulder,
Guiding me,
Thank you for being there,

I’d not be me,
Without your love,
The words,
I love you,
They’re not enough,
Not by magnitudes,
Thank you for everything.

Grey Skies

I took a walk this morn,
Along a gloomy lane,
To ponder the world,
And my place in it,

The grey clouds,
They look so bleak,
Yet so free,
A blanket of sorrow,

The sky begins to weep,
Along with myself,
Like a somber choir,
Calling out into the fog audience,

They whisper to me as I drudge,
They tell me,
Even misery can be freedom,
Sadness is not made of chains,

Cry and still progress,
I return home a changed man,
The grey clouds,
They continue on to eternity.

Man-At-Arms

He stands,
At the gates of society,
In the biting storm,
Unhindered,
More sturdy than any wall,

Adorned in gothic plate,
A companion of countless campaigns,
He had no time for a family,
For he was called to war,
More imposing than any bastion,

He is decorated,
Both in medals,
And in brutal scars,
Trophies of crusades both fair and foul,
More watchful than any optics,

He lives to vanquish vandals,
And to protect innocent souls,
Even as his body fails him,
We all salute thee,
The mighty man-at-arms.

Bring Out Your Dead

I come to you all,
With my rickety cart,
And my dingy regalia,
Fashion of the bubonic,

Bring out your dead,
Keep your corpses,
They were doomed from the start,
I mean the real dead,

Your dignity,
Your common sense,
Your decorum,
Your sanity,

They gasped their last,
While you rot alongside your stupidity,
Society is a cadaver,
To be taken and burned,

I drudge through your muck,
Ringing a hopeless bell,
Society dies,
Before its denizens do,

Bring out your dead.

Storm Of Sleep

Sleep has become a storm recently,
A tumultuous time,
Hurricanes of colour,
Bizarre images abound,
Perhaps call it a brainstorm,

Thunderbolts of sudden pictures,
Blinding shots of emotion,
Parodies of realities,
Both imagined and real,
I stir at every crack,

Colours take on shapes,
That I don’t really understand,
Dreams of lovers and killers,
Of monsters and smiles,
Conversations with people who don’t exist,

I begin to feel myself shiver,
The winds grow ever stronger,
I hope to survive the night,
I hope to awaken anew,
After the storm.