Persephone ate six seeds, and fell from grace -
I eat a punnet with impunity, 42 calories full,
And ponder on the loss of legend, whilst
Reading Wikiwisdom on that ancient fruit;
Oh, how far we have come.
The muse is a female form no more
But flickers in light emitting diodes
Dancing dull upon a solid screen -
The wonders of Helicon documented
In footnotes on a summary page.
I am thinking in poetry.
This sounds romantic;
Like my mind is singing
Sonnets of soothing sound
Quartets of calming concepts.
It is not romantic.
It is disjointed; dramatic pauses
Line breaks and punctuation
Crashing through the quiet.
Today is not a good day.
It is a day that calls for poetry
Bleak, fragmented splashes
Of life on a page that begs to be burned.
And I am so tired. So very tired.
On other days it comes easy;
Strength and straight sentences,
Life lived in clean cut prose.
But not today.
Vice grip grinds at the temples
Then thoughts enter the fray;
Boxing match against an amateur
Ain't got no hope, kid
This fuckers bigger than you
And you lost your chance
When you rounded the corner
So let go of the pain
Float the path of the knock out
Let it tear you down
That's your place anyhow;
And he ain't letting go
He's rooted in deep
Grew up in this ring, just like you
Made it himself
From gravel and sweet lies
Fattened you with them
Wove them into the ropes
He's got you cornered
And you let him in -
Aint no escape now.
Out for the count.
I took your kisses
Snatched them from the sky
Put them in a jar,
And watched them idle by
You told me it was creepy,
But also rather cute;
I said they were my butterflies
Brave and bright and mute
I wanted them forever
To keep, so soft and silent-sweet
To watch and not to touch
To savour more than meat on meet
I dream of cities
With star lit sighs
And sirens that twinkle;
Of leaf lined streets at dusk
That hum with engines retreating
To homes with redbrick covered hearts
And gardens just big enough to lounge in
I dream of cities
Where screams are laughter
And buskers sing to cobblestones
In tones of graffiti and sweet-wrapper gold
I dream of cities
Like the one I walk in
Just less real, less human
Tinged with softness not sorrow
Where dreams are real, not only borrowed