All entries for Wednesday 31 August 2005

August 31, 2005

Two more poems

Running out on me

Time is running out
To say how I feel
Time is running out
Like the world is running out of seal.
There are not many left you see
They keep drying or being killed
Or something
Like all these endless tasks

I, or someone else, invents
Kills off the seal of time
'Till none are left
In the ocean of my love.

Time is running out
To say "Oh love me if you will!"
Time is running out
Like an armeggeddon film.
The counter's ticking down quickly
It beeps as my heart pounds and pounds and pounds
And no hero's coming to save my day
Now Willis, no Cruise, no Gibson,
'Cos they're all actors
(And twats besides)
And now those numbers,
Red, like my heart
And the knickers I stole from your line,
Has reached zero
On the apocolypse of my soul.

Time is running out
To say my words of bliss.
Time is running out
For me to go and take a piss.
I bladder like my heart is bursting
With stuff I really can't hold in
But I can't find and outlet anywhere
For urine or for love.
Now the pain I feel is real
And really quite uncomfortable
So my muscles, like my being,
Are so long overstretched
That, like my romantic yearnings,
They have just given up.
So now piss stains
The trousers of my being.

Time is running out
To say anything at all
Time is running out
For you to be the cinderella at my ball.
Which is fact no-one turned up to
And I had to waltz all on my own
Which was slightly weird
And when you appeared
You left
As none of your friends were there,
And running after you I did not see
The glass stiletto on the floor
And sharp shards splinter into
The sole of … my foot.

Time is running out
To say what I wanted to say
Time has now run out
Oh well, I would only have fucked it up anyway.

Maybe I should have actually done something
Instead of writing a poem about it?

Crystaline

In school once they showed us
This prism of crystal
Demonstrating the light
Flowing from each sharp edge.
I looked and thought though you
Were not paying attention
That crystal was you true,
Sharp edges light flies through.
And while I would never
(Lacking talent)
Try to paint or sculpt your profile,
As I charted that light,
With my blunt HB pencil
It was like capturing the sight
Of your dark features bright.

Still my sketch was not good
I could never draw you well
And on paper your lines
Are smoky indistinct
Fading out before me
Though it is my instinct
To capture light in print.

So your crystaline form
Continues it's escape
From me and from my eyes.
Bright delicate crystals
Cut with light just reminds
Of flight of lines like hind
From hound that just wants to be kind
And how I could never draw you well.


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