Sweetheart – Three World Love Letters

It’s OK, sweetheart.

Hand – Three Word Love Letters

Hold my hand.

Home – Three Word Live Letters

Let’s go home.

Eat – Three Word Love Letters

Here: eat something.

Tired – Three Word Love Letters

You look tired.

Stranger

Never mind.

You were a stranger,

even then.

No Longer This

Your smile

was different,

then,

but those old photos

do not

break

my heart.

They are

what they were,

and

are no longer

this.

That,

is

simply

how it is.

I Am Myself

I am a flower,

set firm

in a thousand suns;

anchored to the ground,

and reaching up,

always.

I am bricks and mortar –

a determined home;

existence,

perseverance,

and power,

always.

I am myself,

and always more:

my friends, my family.

A soul in a body,

not trapped,

but free

and walking forward –

always.

Peace is the Whisper

Peace is the whisper

of the wind

through the trees;

a silent corridor –

no sound of keys.

Peace is a bird,

its chirp

and its chime;

all senses,

far clearer,

if just given time.

Grace

There will come a time

when your

absence

is a saving grace

that was

never expected

to be so.

Key to Freedom

Freedom

is a key,

not in a door,

but rather,

not in a door.

Unused,

unkept,

unturned,

unpossessed.

It is a key,

hidden

in a drawer.

And it

is not

for you.

Poison

As

it transpires,

you are

a

tall drink

of

poison.

See You

As it turns out,

seeing you

next Tuesday,

will be

really

quite

appropriate.

Rise Above

Rising above

is far easier,

when you’re not

weighed

down

by bitterness,

immaturity,

selfishness,

cruelty –

like some.

Those people will be crushed,

alas,

by their own

existence.

Intense – A Haiku

Intense; passionate.

My god, intense, delicious,

Amazing – my god.

More Than Ever – A Haiku

You are nothing, now,

and I am more that ever, ever;

more than ever, now.

I am Here

I am here.

I am here.

I have discovered.

I have freed.

I have peace.

I am me.

I am here.

The House – A Short Story

In the gentle wind from the open window, the curtains stroked gently upon the dark, solid wood floor, on a spot in the room where the varnish was a little more worn than elsewhere. Reading, listening to the rain, taking in the fresh air flowing above the field, perhaps crying: they were all in that spot, though long gone.

The house had been empty for some time, and for some time before that felt empty, even with its living inhabitants; sad, lonely, afraid, estranged, and so on for years. Like the makings of the worn varnish, their ghosts remained; a house not haunted by spirits, but by memories of unhappier times.

Everything in the manor remains as it was when the last person left: still, lifeless, hollow. Closed. This window, though, hadn’t been closed for some time. Heavy rain had warped the wood a little, but this had been of little issue; age had weakened it, but still it stayed; pain had broken the window – tragedy. It hadn’t closed since, pressure on the lower ledge and desperation on its mechanisms, it had become a sign of departure. The house emptied, then, and from then.

The curtains were still beautiful, soft, light; the room pure and clean. Only the window, now, was dark and dirty, not in its reality – sun blazing through, glass buffed, frame cleaned – but in its memory, it’s purpose, and its result.

If you listen, you can hear the breeze through the lavender bush below, a family of birds chirping gently – the only family left in these parts, now. The river trickles. Life goes on, even when it doesn’t.

I Am Stuck

Here,

I am stuck,

and don’t know how to feel.

You are a ghost,

a shadow;

an absent thing – surreal.

I must escape,

I need to be free;

here is lost,

unknown:

a time to be me.

Platform

Across the platform,

steel rails dividing

them like prison bars,

their eyes met.

Beating at speed,

their hearts.

Beating at speed,

wheels on the track.

And then,

just like that,

he was gone.

Yet – A Haiku

You are temptation.

Irresistible, and yet –

yet resisted, still.

Heart – A Haiku

The hand plunged inside

your chest is yours, so loose your

fingers; let it go.

Shine

Shine a light upon yourself,

love,

don’t cast a shadow.

You are worth more than dark corners

and could shoulders;

worth a ray of sunshine,

at least.

So shine a light.

Drip – A Haiku

Drip, drip – listen here:

The noises of existence.

Perpetual friends.

Things Left Behind – A Short Story

Breaking through the little overgrown grass and softly hanging leaves of the willowy trees, a beam of pure, beautiful sunlight was allowed its journey. It touched the ground and set the blades to emerald; was accompanied by a soft breeze whispering through the gap.

After exploring, searching, hoping for so long, these simple things are platinum, diamond, maths and physics – more than they seem, and more than ever imagined.

Underfoot, the ground softened – not wet, just yielding; welcoming. It seemed to stretch out for miles, ease rise a dream, each fall an education. In all directions, in became its self and more itself and truly itself. Hope and potential stretched out with it, up to and beyond three previously unexplored compass points.

Now was the time, things left behind, to believe in what could be, and make it so.

Inside – A Haiku

Home is not a place,

but a feeling: warm, intense.

Home is inside you.

Friend – A Haiku

Twelve hours with you,

or a simple twelve minutes,

is just wondrous, friend.

Unbound – A Haiku

Feel it inside you:

a pure pleasure left unbound.

Let it flow through you.

Alive – A Haiku

To be alive is

to be free; to have freedom,

is to be alive.

Flower – A Short Story

Somehow, at his touch, he became aware of every nerve in his body, every hair now standing to attention. It had little to do with how or where he touched him; it happened like this even with the accidental graze of their hands, his gentle kiss, a guiding hand in the small of his back when walking down a busy street. He understood his anxiousness is a situation like that, so he stood just a little closer and made sure the electricity between them would stay alive and keep him moving, calm.

But here, that was all gone: no fear, no anxiety, just anticipation and excitement. Passion, in its purest form.

As he kissed him deeply, all sound drained from the room; the music, the wind outside, gone. The way he touched him was just as soft as the skin on the hands that were doing it. Like silk, or the smoothest marble. Pressed intently, but gently, on his thighs, his chest, and cradling his face; eye contact unbroken like the love between them that has grown and opened like a flower in the brightest sun.

The petals opened willingly the very first time, as though they had always been waiting for this. His sun, his warmth, his strength and intensity flooded him. Leaves locked together, grass intertwined. Heat and sound and scents blown wonderfully out of proportion. A river of love, from one to another, flowing fast and finding its way.

Then calm, and nothing else. Exactly as it should be; exactly as they had always hoped.