I heard you sing.

The endless expanse where only love exists.

People touch overlap with common lust.

The eras of faith have passed.

Just breathe.

Luxury is to move.

Standing is just enough.

Drift away and come again, changed.

‘Why want more than everything that is already given to you?’

This is the world now – where only love exists – this expanse, where I heard you sing.




Cavernous mountain side,
beast scarred moons.
Filth of black,
drip down teaspoons.
Still rivers dyed,
Yet stone illuminates,
a tale cried,
many forsaken fates.
(On walls. In white, it is read by no one. So it is black. Always it is.)
A woman speaks.
“I must eat this timber,
lest I wither.”
A man speaks.
“I must know this is I,
until I die.”
No one speaks, all believe.
“I must always be nine,
to him is divine”
(In dream. In light, flight by no one. So it is grey, grounded in forlorn. Never it stays.)
A girl laughs.
“Fall beyond ground,
Disease the town,
Behead the crown,
die… drown.”
(Upon dark sun. Too dark to see past. It vanishes for one star to shine.)
A widow’s last breath.

Folly of Teens

Smooth alabaster and cool as ice. His heart. His words piercing to those who are attracted by him. They seek to find a calm and he is the eye of the storm that is life. He is unmoved by the cries of women and the jealousy of men.

We can only hope to be able to catch a glimpse of him as he moves so fast out of our vision. We can all move like magnets to his whim. A shooting star. Alone in the space, around that he has called without words,  his own.

I see him from behind the crowd,  peering behind a building in the furthermost corner of his presence.

I see how the crowd behaves. How women fawn over him to a point and beyond losing their dignity. Yet I cannot say I am not the same. I might not be shouting aloud, proclaiming my love, but I would.

Run. Go back to the realm which you have came from. To that place I will never know and I don’t belong. This is a message for both you and me.

A message of self hate and an inferiority complex that you probably will never understand. Only disgust towards me, prehaps.

Doesn’t it drive you insane or even make you feel disgusted? The way you are an object in their eyes. You aren’t even human in our eyes. Aren’t you afraid?  How can you stand so comfortable in your own skin?

Thoughts of how people think drive me insane. Keeping the delicate balance between conforming and individuality, to feel a sense of belonging whilst retaining yourself in a world so large to belong to.

How can you stand to be anything else but human?

Plain Jane.

Prompt: “You hail a taxi but it doesn’t stop. After several taxis do the same you give up and begin to walk”

Rain doesn’t stop.

If there’s a god out there, is this his sign of mercy as a reflection my misery? Or perhaps plain cruelty?

The rain, it’s cold wetness seeps into my clothing.

Umbrellas and heavy coats can only prolong the seemingly long hours outside waiting for the bus. Locals know this through experience. I, on the other hand, just realised this today.

Though despite the downpour, passing traffic, and bustling of people, silence comes unexpectedly. A quietness I haven’t indulged in for a while.

Then like always, a song plays. Never can I recognise the voice that softly sings nor the guitar that thums along on occasion. It is soothing. I haven’t heard it before, something perhaps created by my mind to fill the silence that it isn’t used to. The quietest of piano. The whisper of singing.

But I can’t. Not right now. I’m busy, will there be a time when I’m not? I wonder snidely.

More than love, a need

He grabbed my arm, held it firmly, as tears streamed past the fingers wiping them away.

“Please”, he held me close then whispered, “you need to talk to me.”

I wanted to relax into his arms and just let go in the relief and warmth. Yet at the same time, a voiceless fear crept from the emptiness within myself that screams to pull away from him, ‘he will hurt you. He has never loved or will love you. He does not want you like you want him. You cannot trust this man.’ I cried the more I listened to the wails echoing a scarred child embodied as my heart.

“Let’s take it slow” he quietly suggested. I saw a pained look of confusion. He was hurt because I am, ‘yes, this is the man I love’, I thought.

Blushing deeply, I realised this is the first time I cried in front of a man whom meant the world to me. A man whom I never wanted my weaknesses or vulnerabilities to show, ‘an ugliness’ I believed, that would push him away.

“Your beautiful”

He stated most abruptly and I almost protested aloud. his calloused fingers traced my skin waist then downward, distracting me. A slight whimper escaped as I held him a little more closer.
“Don’t be scared” he said as concern clouded his face. Then he held his sigh, “I’m here aren’t I”.
“But it’s you, that’s why…”
“So I we should stop.”

He turned away, avoiding my gaze. Then grabbed his jacket and keys andĀ  closed the door behind him. It was empty – it was not just the room.
I ran to him.
“Don’t go. I… We can take it slow, we can… I can… Don’t leave.” I panted.
“No, no, it’s not like that. I, I just needed air. It just hurts me when you doubt me. You tell me your saving it for marriage but it sounds like your telling me I have no chance of being that person.” Frustration built as he continued. “Then, just now you thought I was leaving you because you said no to me. I love you but how dare you think it was because of this.” He grasped my shoulders and stared at me intently.
A pregnant pause.
Then I muttered, “I’m sorry”, in acceptance.
He sighed and tightened his hold, as if the truth might drive me away. ThenĀ  a small smile graced his face.
“I know you. I know this scares you but I’m not like…” Treading carefully he softly whispered “…those other men, I never tried to hurt you”.
“I know”, as I grasped his fingers “I know and that’s why I’m sorry for doubting you.”


Moving pictures projected on an invisible wall in front of me. Tears rolled down my eyes. I held my breath. I knew how he would have felt if he knew. “That day, I saved your life but in return they broke my wings…” I turned slightly and hesitately. Grey-white wings became increasingly visible, yet as they began to stretch, my limitations were obvious. Broken. Short. Useless.
The unfamiliar and overwhelming emotions seeped into the dark reaches of my hidden soul. A requirement of those who fell. I was taught that the soul create emotion. A strength. A weakness. I feel it now, that weakness, the pain.
He stood there, attempting to control himself. But, as I broke down in tears, he slowly shed his own. A drop of human emotion echoed throughout the, now, seemingly large room to be confined by the reality of ‘the bigger picture’.
I knew why he cried. The reason remains the same as the reason for my sacrifice, his selflessness and self-sacrificing nature. He cried because he blamed himself for being the cause of my consequence.
For centuries, I have observed the human race. They who are in essence our bretheren, yet act and behave in strange manners. Emotions were confusing yet many more senior than I beg to differ and, to extremes, envy their possesion of a soul.
However, now, I understood why.
I have never regretted saving him from his early calling to heaven. Though heaven is his determined fate, I felt it was too short. He deserved to live. However, this choice like many others have their consequence.

Kneeling before all those I knew and some unfamiliar, I begged to be understood. I told them I did not need to be forgiven for the right I have done. Then in unison, they replied ‘You have no right’ and left in belief they had said enough.
I did not forget. I knew our will. Our will was of our father and no other. It was the only law and it has been since the beginning.

Looking up, I saw his face. The scar by his eye carried a stream of tears, brightened by the reflected light, as the images began to fade.

‘Sorry’, we both said with a followed silence.

Within that silence, nothing needed to be said because all was understood.

Rin. F. two birthdays ago

This was something I wrote for Rin.F., I never sent it because I thought it was to sad for a birthday present. I wanted to give her hope but it became more depressing than expected. Note the metaphors.

My beloved sister,
There might be a time when pieces of your heart seem broken or lost,
The king fails to break open your castle gates even without thought of reason or cost.
Your horses fallen fighting your fire,
Your men exhausted as awakening you seemed dire.
And your people abandon you as they see no hint of your return,
Yet I will run, walk and stand by your side as I see light in darkness,
Comfort in plight,
today, yesterday and every other day and night,
because in truth I have true sight.

I watch your people laugh as they hope you will hear their happiness and long for home,
I uncover the odor of your men’s hard work, as they plot and plan doing their unthinkable, until pages learnt pial into a large prison dome.
I listen to the marching of hooves as they face the circumstances with bloodshot eyes,
I wipe away the king’s tears, noticing the stench of unwashed clothes,
And still, you remain ignorant with thoughts completely your own while others bleed, cry and suffer,
It may seem as if it is impossible but we are here and with you, you are not alone.