Residual

That love of no longer love

That love of pure escapism

The schism of disappearance

The insincere smitten life of sense

Intensity rises, intensity calls

Opportunity prises, immense in the falls

Soul and spirit: a deep and wilful critic

The cyclic nature of abandonment calls

Succession, procession, obsession

Fresh from the morning nap

Correction, inflection, dictation

Until the next time of passion

The fashion is as the fashion is

No longer is the fashion as the fashion was

Was that, what we did not talk about

That one day we too would grow old

Yet the cold caught hold before our time

Your bold move brought the curtain down

The certainty of your management

Sent out shock waves, which never settled

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Inside

When I close this page

May the conversations continue

Between what maybe never was

And what maybe was never meant to be

Might that they should explore

How close, or how far

Their emotions floated, drifted

In search of a stable mooring

That they could open the faces

Of the pebbles, the stones, the oceans

Such that they could hear the music

Of a love line leaning, all pervading

Might that they ask one another

Also ask of themselves

Was there any further that we could have gone

Was there any nearer which we could have been

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Lessen

That I have to write more

Is that I have to write more

That I have to write less

Is that I have to write less

That less is more

Is more or less all there is to say

More about mercurial moments

Less about savage heartbreak

More about simple beauty

Less about ugly indifference

That less is more

Is more or less all I am able to offer

Less about what is lost

More about what survived

Less about what disappears

More about what reappears

That more is less

Is more or less all that I have left

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To Trace

I am collating

I am facilitating

I am taking on board

Other men’s words

I am regurgitating

I am re-envisioning

I am once more contemplating

Other men’s thoughts

Yet I do see the sunlight

Yes, I do hear the birdsong

I do listen

To the prayers of morning meditation

Also, there

In the light of the candle

I am among that purity

I am alight with the love

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Glory Be The Glorious

I am aware, or I am made aware

Of the conflict of our suffering

That is; my suffering, your suffering, our suffering

It is a burden which I gift to you

It is a burden which I take from you

No more, never no more, no more ever no more

Furious as the fury might have been

Acceptance is willed in on the angel’s wings

The angels given courteous of the Celtic Wisdom

The wings adapted for our brows of suffering

Let us cherish that which we do not talk about

Let infinity guide us to the infinite

Let smooth light illuminate the jagged darkness

Let the morning take us into the day

The day then to lead us on into the Elysian Fields

There to celebrate the silence of the silences

To embrace the love of the love of the lovers

Step steadily into the courtyards of blossom

Witness how clear the path of the arrow

See how certain its tip enters the tree

That none of this might reach you

That the hollow man may echo hollow words

That the hillside is still there for the climbing

That the stream is where the water flows

Beneath the bridges to all of our yesteryears

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