The Broken Ride - Revisited

Revised on 8 February 2006.

On a broken ride across the sky,
Along the edge of time we fall.
Gently, forever; like the snow, softly
threatening. Slightly white.
And each flake a lie; everlasting,
The never-ending pain; the blood
shed: Drop by drop.
Off the tongue, it is the rain,
Ever beating, beating down,
A menacing advance. Layer;
Upon layer, fold upon fold.
Consuming itself. A tale yet untold.
The shapeless mould: is darkness.
And inside.
Unlock the door; break the heart.
Cracked, questions filter out. Through
formless holes: Too big yet too small ¬–
Never satisfying.
From under, over and below. Observe.
Empty is full; filled within.
Half full becomes half empty, when you
pour. With open eyes. Watch.
In the mirror,
Jaded.
Look, on the walls, pictures.
Rusting yellow. Red-brown and gold.
Tarnished beauty?
See: Beyond the window, perfect
view. Scenery.
Unrecognizable. Unsure?
Nose pressed against the glass.
Missing, longing, waiting…hoping.
On a broken ride; far, so far,
Away from home. Alone.
Thinking, trying to understand.
(c) Sylphide

These Words

Began on 30 November 2005.

These words are mistakes –
Leaves that never should have fallen:
They litter the ground; Crimson,
The colour of rage.

These words echo spite and malice.
Unintentional – they cause the most pain:
The words no one choose to say.
Sprawling, a stain across the page

These words fall like rain:
Effortlessly, it seems – off the tongue.
Falling,
Again and again
(c) Sylphide

Silent Bird

Began on 17 November 2005.

My silent bird – you do not sing:
These ears are empty, like this heart.
You leave me dry of blood and tears,
As your gaze evokes my sorrow

Your silence echoes here,
An unheard music
Louder than any voice;
I feel you speak to me.

Fly away, little bird.
Why do you linger here?
A cage is not a home –
Is there naught else you hold dear?

Fly away, little bird,
Why do you linger still?
What is it that binds you
To these bars of unyielding steel?

My voiceless bird – do you cry?
Your eyes seem so empty.
Could your heart be breaking, just like mine?
When I look, all I see is myself.

Is this just my own whimsical reverie?
(c) Sylphide

In Memory Of Flowers

Began on 10 November 2005.

This winter
Your garden is covered in snow
I leave my footprints down your driveway
Your rose bushes are cold

I was apart:
My feet and heart were caught up
Someplace else; But I would have come
If I could have seen you cry
Far away, I couldn’t hear you sigh

Where do dead flowers go?
Where do dead flowers grow?
Tell me –
Do they bloom in heaven
With you?

The quiet,
Echoes through the empty hours
The hallways are full of meaningless sound
And vases of faded flowers

Now that I’m here:
There’s nothing left to remind me
All silent; except the wind in the door
I savour the scent of the past
I linger, now that I’m here at last

Where do dead flowers go?
Where do dead flowers grow?
In heaven?
Do they bloom in heaven
With you?

I’d like to think that they were happy –
Just like you
(c) Sylphide

Tear Stained Hands

Began on 15 August 2005.

I will wipe your eyes
With these tear stained hands
That you may weep no more
The emptiness in them hurts me
In your eyes I am lacking
Your sorrow is shallow
You see not beyond the skin
Hollow within
These tears are forced
And you indulge me now
Taking and giving at will
I will wipe your eyes
Oh, foolish child
And all else time will mend
(c) Sylphide

Nothing Between

Began on 6 May 2005.

There’s nothing between us
Just a pane of frosted glass
In my eyes you are blurred
Distorted, so unlike me
And so I shun you
Because I am afraid
If I reach out to touch you
Can’t feel you as you are
Just a pane of frosted glass
I tell myself
There’s nothing between us

I open my eyes, like you tell me to
But there is nothing new
Your voice is a whisper
I can barely hear you over the glass
And so I shun you
Because I am afraid
If I should err in my thought
Would I trust myself again?
Just a pane of frosted glass
I tell myself
There’s nothing between us
(c) Sylphide