To The Four Corners Of The World

The Letter Was Burnt

It was only going in the bin anyway:
where the disliked live and show their fear,
without reprise and aren’t afraid to run away
or stand their ground and fight.
They’ve always teased us and made us hate our smiles.
The way we walk and talk;
the way we laugh and cry and die;
and only end up saying goodbye.

Momentarily is scarily too soon for fairies.

Third Time Lucky

Papillon

The metamorphic change worms make
become patches of sky ripped away.
Colours that dance before your eyes,
and remind you just how much it’s possible to change.
Rainbows painted onto form;
no longer bound to the earth,
but free to dance and play.

No longer have to wait around for rain.

On Second Thoughts

At Least You’re There

I may one day write a poem
about you, but know I’ll never
tell, lest you throw your hands up in
despair and question why I bring
so much emotion to pen. So

I’ll say its fiction about a
woman I saw in a café
crying as her heart was flayed, and
thought I can’t share with you I feel
your warmth support agreement that
there are some things left best unsaid.

And on separate sides of the
bed we sleep are our own lamps,
paperback fictions lying beside
our heads. At least I know the
warmth of you is there, to comfort
me, when I’m scared.