my-grey-words

It is dark. Leaf-strewn pavements glimmer with dull orange rain, and the biting air attempts to elicit lamplit-fog breath and ruddy cheeks from every nocturnal walker. As far as I can see, it's succeeding. The double-decker 504 rattles past - lit up (as if a lantern) from the inside; a cage of metal and glass ferrying the last of the weary, nighttime travellers homewards. Hush returns as the mechanical clangs and squeals of pneumatic brakes is slowly devoured by distance, and no more is left of the bus save whorls of dissipating fumes. Only dark-blue silence now (and the muted slaps of rubber soles on wet pavement). On another street, another

Frozen october wind slices scythe-like through rattling branches shreds their now rust-shaded leaves The insubstantial paper bodies offer little resistance and soon besodden carcasses litter rainlogged pavements. How ironic - the water that had once nourished them; that had coursed through fibrey xylems and granted them life, now cements their deaths. A pauper's burial. Naked branches mourn for lost loves The leaves are mere memories now Each a golden polaroid of vibrant and verdant days past...

Rolls and rolls of orange-saturated hills, Fringed by a heavy-grey, pillowed sky To my right the moribund sun makes one last attempt at living – a final splutter, nay, an explosion of orange flares and bleeding clouds behind the impenetrable mountains Whilst an indigo sky awaits to descend to claim its kingdom – its nocturnal kingdom. What separation is there between light and dark; ash and fire? None. Your hands are cold.

Gail, your muted tears trace down your rouge face, carrying rivulets of disintegrated beauty. Your eyes are swollen with bottle green droplets and unfathomable secrets. Cry for me; open your long-hidden wounds and make into a firework your suppressed frustration. You are clutching the infinitesimal thread of your pretend security. Let go of the masque. Let those tears fall, Gail; Taste the brine of your freedom, your salvation. Wipe away the haunting memories of your past transgressions and indulge your backstabbed, betrodden heart. Cry for me, Gail. I hope that in your tears you can find yourself.

Listen to my words I'm screaming them to you My shattered syllables scrape your fragile eardrums My poisoned breath makes noxious clouds in front of your oblivious face Can't you hear me? Listen Listen Listen Listen Listen Listen Listen Why won't you listen? Hear it! Hear me! Listen!

 'My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death'  Says Jesus Sorrow So intensely deep-seated So crushingly profound That He feels the sheer weight of it alone would kill Him Yet even then He still prays In anguish He falls to His knees Begging that the tragedy of what is to come would not Yet still He cries 'not my will but Yours' The bleak road stretches endlessly ahead of Him Paved with bloody slabs of betrayal Betrayed thrice by His slumbering companions Betrayed once more for a sack of blood silver With one kiss Heaven and Hell collide His golden crown is shattered And in its place a crown of cruel thorns Betr

Who but He can fabricate from the blackness The non-existentness The deep, dark nothingness A spark An infinitesimal Yet infinitely precious Spark         Of              Life So fragile, Delicate, Yet so multifaceted that it is I M M E N S E He gave it his oxygen And watched the flames begin Spreading like wildfire Consuming all despondency All barrenness All emptiness With L I F E The tiny, precious spark Transformed Into An awesome Colossal Violent Torrent of white-hot B R   I   

I am a ghost in the recesses of your fractured mind A mere whisper riding on the wind I'm the brief shadow that obscures the moon I'm nothing, nothing at all I am the mask you hid behind through these years The malevolent shadows you tried to keep at bay I am the music that intoxicates and empowers I'm the shattered dreams you longed to forget I am all the broken tears you cried and wiped away I'm the solace you found in the gentle darkness I am your frustration as you started losing who you are The glittering shards of glass from your smashed mirror I'm the glint of light on your razorblade I am the trembling in your hand as you

The blackest hour of blackest night, I call upon you hellish sprites. Be thee foe or be thee not, Gather round my brewing pot. Spirits, demons, help me make A sinister potion for Hecate's sake A concoction guaranteed To be worthy for an enemy Fire, fire, leap and burn Round and round the potion churn Cauldron, Cauldron, steam and stew As I make my wicked brew Liquid fury, bottled screams, Worst nightmares and shattered dreams Mangled maggots, flattened flies, A man's last breath before he dies Black dog's hair; dead rat's tail Scorpion's sting and slime of snail These ingredients, foul and vile Throw into the cauldron to br