As if a symbolic act
Quite the opposite
To The Moon On The Water
Or to be on the beach at sunrise
They themselves now metaphors
Or at any rate accompaniments
To the closing of the door
To the ending of the line
Was it wilful, destructive
A sinister imperative ploy
Is it sinful, instructive
The end to unbridled joy
Would that be those worlds
Which are never to return
Could I spurn the chance to proffer
What it seems, has been and gone
What is now dark, yet once which shone
Might I offer good times, and better times
Memories of whence we bounced along
To the rhythms of the old Tibetan gong
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Another stone the distance
Another stone to hold closed the door
Although, in this instance
Another stone to begin the score
A bass stone, a treble stone
A water stone on which to pour
A trumpet stone, a cymbal stone
A sky stone on which to roar
A smooth stone, a rough stone
A callous stone, which says no more
A fondling stone, a feeling stone
A hopeless stone, hopeless at the core
A symphonic stone, a drone stone
A calling stone, laid down on the floor
A timbre stone, a chanting stone
A holding stone, hidden in the drawer
An echo stone, a dissonance stone
A flighted stone, for the song to soar
A tumbling stone, a rolling stone
A moss covered stone, I swear she swore
A car goes down the drive
It is six in the morning
Is my elderly neighbour well
Has his grandson found a new job
Is the world everywhere
Slowly awakening, preparing
For a new dawn
A fresh light over the horizon
There is a stillness, a calm
Carried by the darkness
It is as if a secret is being shared
As you might have done
In the junior school playground
With your new best friend
You might even have whispered
No point now then to go back to bed
You have an early doctors appointment
In an hour or so; when the water is warm
You can take a bath
Have a few minutes of blissful release
As you submerge yourself
Physically, and metaphorically
I am no good with pain
I do not bear it well
I am not fond of suffering
I am absolutely no saint
My current dilemma
Is that the longer I sleep
The more painful my shoulder
When I wake
It’s like a good night out
The better the evening
The more joyfully inebriated
The fiercer the hangover
Or with matters of love
The deeper one throws oneself in
The harsher the heartache
Upon dissolution, upon closure
I know I should be grateful
I am grateful, for the good times
Yet, in the black of this night
I do not take to pain too easily