Neutrality

When it comes to social discourse,
That elixir of companions,
I try not to take sides,
I’m a clear chemical,
Neutral,
Neither acid nor alkaline,
I don’t want to mix poorly,
In this verbal concoction,

I’m an outer disciple,
An observer perhaps,
But never a belligerent,
Raising one friend over another,
I’m not keen on factions,
I’m no partisan,
It’s not fear or duplicity,
But loyalty to all,

We’re all friends and mates here,
Not a flimsy house of cards,
We’re a brew,
Not a poison,
So I remain neutral.

Maybe Love

I find myself in a conundrum,
A dilemma in what this feeling is,
This dynamic,
Between me and this dark angel,
She haunts the recesses of my brain,
A thought hidden in every other,
She is the birds chirping,
The ones at the window as I wake,
She’s the warmth of my blanket,
The ease as I rest my eyes at night,
Her voice never truly fading,

It could be friendship,
I am not addled,
But I sense more,
If it even be reciprocated,
When I witness our meetings,
With this feeling,
This dynamic,
Could it be anything but love?

Listless Soldier

My friend,
I know that you’re suffering,
Wounded,
Ambushed by chance,
You were gut punched,
Ran through,
Left in a crater,
But you’re still on your feet,
You’ve been a soldier this far,
The best people are,

It’s true that you’re in pain,
And it’s true that the war rages on,
Time never ceases those dire barrages,
This is an uphill battle,
It’s true,
Life always was,
But you can do it,
You can rally,
You’re not alone on the frontline,
There’s a whole host behind you.

Polonium

Even in the healthiest of situations,
The closest of coteries,
You may yet find radioactive material,
Bitterness hidden in silence,
Toxic opinions,
Malignant arguments,
Polonium isn’t always obvious,
Despite its cool blue glow,
But its effects can be,

Like a cancer,
The radiation can seep out,
Unseen even by a Geiger meter,
Blighting the joy,
Poisoning the friendship,
Poisoning the well,
The host will inevitably grow unwell,
And unless decontaminated,
The crew will perish.

Witch Of White

I have a friend abroad,
A dutiful witch of white,
To whom I owe praise,
You’ve been there for some time,
Though we have never shaken hands,
With your advice and your Dermot Kennedy,
Your temperance and your magic,

You speak to me on electrical channels,
In the wise chords of shamans,
Reaching miles under moonlight,
Even across wave and cliff,
The words and incantations still reach,
Like owls upon the wing,
A true friend.

Thank you Mel.

Absence

I’m an absent friend,
Like a revenant,
I’m not about much,
You can’t always see me,
Not hear my speech,
But I’m there,
Only a call away,
To hell with reason,
Miles be damned,

I’m not the only one,
You have a warhost behind you,
Every einherjar you’ve befriended,
Any and all willing to fight for you,
So if the clouds grow too fierce,
Or a fool is nipping your flanks,
Just give a little whistle,
And I’ll come running,
Mad grin and top hat in tow.

Misunderstandings

Conversations can often go awry,
Common ground crumbling underfoot,
If harmony is a creature,
A living thing,
Misunderstandings are a stake to the heart,
A fact or thought misconstrued,
Is the death of agreement after all,
A glitch,
A wound,
Emotions can be tarred,
Until logic is applied again,
Misinterpretation isn’t malice,
No harm is meant,
But misunderstandings happen.

Put Downs

Who can put us down the worst?
Whom do you think?
Those closest to us of course,
Our inner circles,
They indeed have the most volatile ammo,
The most cutting,

Friends know things that enemies only guess,
They know our weaknesses,
The nicks in our cuirass,
Whether intended or not,
They can get the closest with the blade,
And strike the most vital zones,

Keep friends close,
And enemies closer they say,
But a knife is still a knife.

Remembering

Tell me,
Do people change?
Or does your memory betray you?
Are these machinations in your head false?
Ruby-tinted glasses in hindsight?

You recall them with fondness,
Angelic,
Sagacious in the extreme,
Beautiful and everything sweet under the sun,
Almost folkloric in their virtues,

But then witness them in the present,
Drugs and drink and crime,
Ugliness in their actions,
Selfishness to the core,
As if the past was a disguise,

It’s curious to remember people as they were,
Rather than the forms they take presently,
Are they mirages in the mind?
Or do people change?
Tell me.

Scrapbook

The other night,
I made a scrapbook from the pieces of us,
Memories put on to parchment,
Crumpled photos and lingering gazes,
Tufts of hair and smiles around campfires,
Receipts and candlelit dinners,
It’s all that remains of us,
Existing only in paper and glue,

This scrapbook,
It has grown to be a cat o’ nine tails,
Papercuts and stinging eyes,
It hurts parts of me immaterial,
Every fibre of my being,
Yet the memories on those pages,
They’re the reason I don’t give in,
And throw it into the fire.