Lurking in wait

Time falls,

and the deadline looms.

A banished barrage hails no boom, boom, boom.

Silence.

An eerie smile portends a knowing beast.

You've made your choice,

rolled the dice.

Coin tossed and cliche ticked.

It knows your fate.

Hidden.

Teasing and peering;

out of sight, is not out of mind.

Waiting, it's hoping.

The stumble, the tumble, your fumble to it's rumble of delight.

Embraced.

Your doom in an embrace of bloody delight,

shredded flesh stripped from a tormented soul.

Fucked.

Woken.

Petrified perspiration from a possible fate.

Head in a spin tying guts in a knot.

Decision awaits you.

And a beast lurks in waiting.

Past

What did you utter, into the night?

The same moans and groans as you do with me?

Did you promise your body; your soul; the earth and stars - and all that falls between?

Have his fingers walked, stalked and pressed the paths of your skin; those highways and byways, the roads mine now travel?

To your pleasing smile, was he led on?

Do you whisper in my ear like you whispered in his? Same words, same entice, same device.

It's me that touches you now, but who do you imagine is holding you tight?

Betrayed to a ghost of who I replaced.

So who could you lay with where the words would ring true?

You couldn't trust the time that we now share.

And heard only echoes when I spoke my heart.

Well could you trust hers?

Did she give you something that was lacking in me;

or, was she just a service so you could fuck me?

We all have a past; but not a virgin, not a whore.

I gave you all and it drove you mad.

Just whose at the wheel as you car crash your life?

Will she nurse you better, as your madness subsides, 'cause you wont find me there.

A whore!

You're a fool!

I gave you my heart.

You lied and deceived: stole to amuse.

Well what do you want, a girl with no past?

I wanted you; but you're smoke and mirrors.

He said you're no good.

So you've spoken to him, the proof of your lies.

Get a grip, a word's no fuck.

Well here's a fuck you, from my little friend.

You quoted Pacino!!! As you've shot me dead.

Now my throat's as tight like my trigger finger.

Well another fuck you, no crappy film quote, your lunch that I make: I've poisoned you dead!

Fallen Angel

Nothing to say,
nothing to see.
Heard only whispers, and
touched only dreams.

A deed to be done,
commissioned and flung.
For an itch needed scratching;
a rash not yet sprung.

Temptation is torment, and
release will reveal.
Tis a foolish fandango,
that speaks the sins of your soul.

Waiting, and waiting.
Fidget and think.
Fingers get creepy:
when they can't keep still.
Up and down; over - across;
the terrain of the table.
But that is no relief.

So plunge not yet taken.
Transgression tomorrow?
Will the light be the same as this dark electric hum.
Fear the rocky, rapid moment
that wrestles, rips and tears.
Taken, taken over, the edge.
To the abyss.
You'll fall down, be pulled down:
down deep, down quick.
No rest, nor release.
Just a broken, fallen angel.
An echo, like so many, that have fallen here before.
------------------

Where were you my brother?

Where were you my brother,
when our mother died?
Where were you my brother,
when the walls came tumbling down?
Where were you my brother,
when the rape and torture came?

You cursed and marched,
burnt flags and cheered,
at the foreigner far away.
Invoked kith and kin,
claimed all was one,
and told of how to fight.

Were once united
and marched 'cross sand, through heat:
a hazy dusty trial.
Yet united and myth created:
of a family arm in arm.

Now my brother,
our brother is at my door.
With evil eyes and blood stained hands:
he's hammering to get in.

Your lie was sold.
I believed as told,
that we were all as one.
When evil's done and at our door;
Your silence speaks so loud.
A foreigners help is blunt but needed.
And yet you would curse at him.

You my brother were not there.
Your lies are just like theirs.
No helping hand,
We fall not stand.
A family? No, we die alone.
So, where were you my brother?
------------------

Revolution

You marched,
shouted and sweated.
With barricades broken:
you bled, died and cried.
Carried on, completed
and the king was crushed.
Yet was the revolution yours, or was it theirs?

Back to life,
to the humdrum.
To a no one when you were a someone.
In a crowd as one, but who led you on?
Did they charge first, or
at the back plotted and planned.
You fought and died, but for what,
did they plan for?

Death and taxes, the old refrain:
an inherited lot.
No matter the struggle; the toil and trouble.
Yet does the air smell sweet: a clean, honest odour.
Or is it foul, with the corrupted scent of good gone bad?

On the revolutionary road,
but where do you get off?
------------------

Blocking up the road

There's big men, in big cars, with small ideas.
On little roads, they're driving fast;
as the world leaves them behind.
Observe, we look, regard and bemoan.
Held up, blocked out - we wanna kick them out the way.
Stunted, staid, refrained
- restricted we rage and cry.
A breakout a breakthrough;
or backdown and bottle it.
Choice for what's new and unknown;
or become the big men in big cars, blocking up the road.

What price change?
What price acceptance?
Plunge the dagger in your fathers' back, lest your son plunge his in yours.
A bloody lament awaits.
A bloody shame it if doesn't.

Friend kills friend,
yet they'll battle for the same thing.
Deep wounds may not mend.
When you become a big man, in a big car, with small ideas.
Blocking up the road.
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