Windows To The Soul
Some say the eyes are windows to the soul. I look through mine, behind the grey and blue and green, into the world of the unseen.
I see a child before the years. Quietly determined to prove people wrong. A stubborn force, it shouts 'you cant keep me down, Im too strong'.
The words bounce around empty chambers, tombs plundered by those years. But that voice is is still there, hiding in shadows, behind fears.
I just have to find him again.
Silver & Cement
The snow fell silently in the garden of the bungalow, far away. The little boy lie on his front, on the old long haired rug, in front of the gas fire. He listened, transfixed, as the old man told one of his tales from another time.
He would describe places he was sent. Amazing giant cat men and royal graves adorned with gold and fine paint.
Somewhere in a far away land.
Hidden languages and signals. Radios and motorbikes, hushed missions in the dead of night.
Bruising tales of digging deep and finding resolve, skill and reflex, slip then counter, sporting glory, staying humble.
How he taught the newer generation. Coaching and encouraging, developing skills, giving them opportunities he dug out.
There were little silver men and medals on the shelves above the rug, tributes to skills and proud moments.
Sometimes he would point to one, a little twinkle in his eye and the hint of a smile, and tell its story.
The silver men and medals are on shelves behind glass now, preserved for many to see. Nothing fancy, just history in the corner of a room, where people shuffle by.
But the stories behind them, the essence that gives them their true meaning and value, are kept in only one remaining place. It carefully carries the light, so their sparkle and shine remains untarnished.
My mind.
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Note:
Not bad for a boy from the cement works, they said.
For my Grandad, never forgotten and forever loved.
Dreamshaking
Again and again relentless
Nightmare, unforgiving fear
Footsteps behind me, tip, tap
Phantoms, noises, nothing clear
Into dream
The Dragons Lair
Hateful visions
Recurring nightmare
Eyes rapid, tight shut
Sleep's realm no safe bet
Pressure, let me scream
Hold. Not yet, not yet
Not quite yet.
Trapped in a bad trip
A world so insecure
Familiarity skewed
Jagged and impure
Reaching for safety
None there in my head
Running from shadowmen
With legs like solid lead
Slow panic. cold, dank
Willing my feet to run
Gut wrenching feeling
That I am the bad one
Nearly upon me now
Like crawling through mud
Trying to find my escape
Through visions of death and blood
They're a second from me
The story ends by the lake
Tunnels of unspeakable horror
Climb faster out of dream. And Awake.
Scream.
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Note: I used to have bad dreams. The same one over and over again, for years.