Twelfth Of Never

My mother used to tell me a saying that her parents had told her as a kid: 10 children playing together can not play forever.

She then explained that the meaning behind it was that unfortunately not all the friends that you grow up with will remain the friends you have.
Well a decade has passed on since I started my second level school days, and I’ve made some and also lost many friends.

But I’m happy to say that the four closest friends I have, I’ve known for 10 years. That to me will be one of my greatest accomplishments in life.

I find myself at lengths letting the water fall endlessly from my body.
Watching as the currents try to wash away the filth,
and pool at the bottom of my feet.
Draining slowly into the darkened crevice.

My morning routines becoming just that.
The thick steam signalling that it is at an end.
I have to look forward to the rest of the day.

As I find my way through the fog the face that stares from inside cannot meet my eyes.
We are black and white.

And so we sat
Me and my clown
As the waves crashed upon the sand
“With such a beautiful view
Why do you stare
Down at your hands?
At this very moment you choose to be sorrowful?

Why is my clown sad and crying?
Is it because times are getting harder
And feeding is scarce for the hungry?
Is it the lack of care and interest in the planet?
Is it maybe because the seasons have changed
And the wind whispers ‘winter is coming’?”

My clown looked at me with such sadness in his eyes,
And though his tears had fallen so freely,
His painted face stayed on.

“This world has charmed me with all of it’s beauty
And all of it’s poison.
I’ve come to terms with this circus of a life we live,
I’m used to walking on it’s unstable line.
No, I weep for my brothers and sisters
And the burdens that bare down on our shoulders.

A clown has the task of cheering up the ill and dying.
On top of that, half the world think of me insane,
The others are scared I’ll cause them pain.
When the tears of a clown run down his cheeks,
Who is there to see him into a better state of mind?”

The moon floats like a gleaming pearl above the trees
Whom whisper to one another, shaking crisp green leaves
In the chilled midnight breeze.

The glowing orb is just out of arms reach
But admiring it from a distance
Is just as pleasing.

The only other sound for miles around
Are the padded feet of a shadow far behind.

Another lonely soul.

The pavement, dimly lit by towering light posts,
Twists and turns its way like a concrete serpent.
Leading the way with menacing smiles permanently etched into its eroding face.

The darkness isn’t so dense, but the silence is welcoming.
A blanket to cover any that are willing to wrap themselves around it.
It lifts and suspends me high above these roof tops
And everything else is lost in this moment.

Everything else becomes irrelevant.

The troubles that plague us when day-light breaks
Are washed away in the night.
When dreams become our escape;
Our new reality.

It’s in the her,
It’s in the me,
In her smile, the shape it makes effortlessly,
it’s in the way her hair flows when teasing the wind,
Long ringlets of glowing colours that rival the sun on the horizon.

It’s in the way she talks,
Or looks at me,
Deep blues I seem to drown in.
Those shimmering sapphires make the twinkling sky obsolete.
It’s in how she’s still there when i close my eyes.
How she’s as i remember but still not the same.
She renders me incomplete.

It’s in the way she walks away,
And how hard I try not to watch her leave.
It’s in the laughter that she wants to hide,
The same laughter I want to hear day by day.
It’s in the time spent together,

Together we suspend time.
It’s in the seconds that count when she’s away,
Ticking, one after another in the background.

It’s in the way she haunts my dreams,
And just as often saves me from my nightmares.
It’s in the way it never ends.

Though the warmth from the hearth radiated the family room,
A chill ran down the length of my spine.
Though the smiles of the people in the beautifully carved frames
Had been captured in a blissful moment in time,
Even as they all seemed to suggest that all was fine,
They did not reflect me and mine.

Secrets were spun and twined and tangled in a web of lies,
Sticking to it’s victims.
Restricting.
Constricting and choking.
Suspicions and tensions bubbling to the surfaces.
And yet all that was said was said in the subliminal.

Seeds that are planted and take root are difficult to conceal.
The lit candle set on a hill can be seen for many a mile.
Almost all will notice when the moon bleeds orange against the sky.
Translations are lost and relations defrost ever so slowly.

Looking at your face makes me angry,
When all I can see is myself looking back at me.
Reflections.
Is it true they hold the truth and the future for me?

I wanted to tell you before I left
Say the things I rarely said,
The three words i never spoke loudly enough.

I wanted to tell you,
But it was too little too late.
I get so angry sometimes, and it
Disappoints me, like a creature is
Living inside of me, eating what’s in
It’s way up.

I wanted to tell you,
But it was much too late.
After bottling up the pressures of my responsibilities,
After our arguments, I wanted to tell you;
After our screams and shouts,
After plates and things went crashing against the walls
After your storming out,
But it was already too late.

I wanted to tell you,
After I raised my fist
To give you that black eye,
After the flashing blue lights had
Driven up our front lawn.
But it was far too late.

How can I tell you now?
How can I show you I had
Married the right man,
But he the wrong woman?
Is it too late to remind you of how we were?
No, you should be happy,
And I hope you are.
Without me to hold you back,
Don’t think just do.
Do the things you’ve always wanted to.
It’s not too late.

I knew a girl, who was born in the modern world.

She was barely in her teens and kept her eye on the fashion scene.

In the end she never saw a queen when she looked up at her reflection, see

she did things obscene just to keep her body lean,

spending most nights clutching to the porcelain.

Through divorce she never saw her father, never had he hugged her,

but she didn’t seem to bother,

because from hanging with the older boys 

she found her worth, yes I’m talking of intercourse, 

till she found motherhood all too quick,

a set of twins and a boy the age of six.

She showed her strength to the end, but when she needed them the most

where were those faces of which she used to boast?

He was a young boy who grew up in a world so cold.

His heart was pure but it left him scarred and insecure.

Never seemed to find his place in this God forsaken race.

Back in school, he used to act the fool, just so they would think he was cool,

but living a life so cruel he never was noticed.

They’ll remember his name now though, since he slit his own wrists.

A child was raised on the south Safari plains.

Was taught at a tender age to shoot a man at point blank range.

Sleeping with blood on her hands and waking to the sound of shells hitting the sand,

that is how a rebel warrior lived.

She had thirty-five bodies, but couldn’t make it to thirty-six…

Summer; a moment in time when all that are able, notice something in the air, a certain change.

The Spring chill is lifted and so too is the weight that keeps the flowers from blooming. The warmth and newly formed, vibrant colours of the greens, make and birds to sing and dance effortlessly in the air.

Their songs of joy rings beautifully in the ears of us who are tethered, by some unforeseen force, to the earth and jealousy fills my heart. I too long to lift my arms and get swept away on the currents of the wind.

People are smiling more, hearts seem tender and the laughter of children can be heard somewhere off in the distance.

It certainly is the little things that we appreciate (or at least, should appreciate) in life.