At the bottom of Pandora’s box
I found an I.O.U.
© D. Archer . June 2015
In hindsight it may not have been such a good idea to read a selection of Sylvia Path before going to bed. It is very very unusual for me to dream or in fact to wake up with any thoughts in my head. This morning I woke up to the sound of rain.
I like rain.
Rain falls like my expectations,
black crow in the clearing waits
to feed on hope
that dare raise its head;
all the coloured birds are gone
and another day slips out reach
just as yesterday met its end.
We never talk about the silence,
the uninvited distance,
the clinging pain that taunts me to
“learn how to forget”;
bitter nicotine leaves my cold split lips
as I stand alone
staring at the stars
outnumbered only by the tears I shed.
© D. Archer. January 2013
The rain keeps irregular time
pattering on peeling window frames;
the birds settle in the autumn hours
and I take to dream upon your name.
Softly the syllables I mouth
as if to conjure flesh made real;
you would bring
your timeless beauty
and a tender kiss I’d steal.
I labour just to tire
to toil that I may rest;
to hold you not in my imagination
your head soft upon my chest,
to hear nothing
but my beating heart
dull; slowed with peace,
to wander Wordsworth’s daffodils
hand in hand
no hill too steep.
The alarm clock rings
you are lost to the working light;
no matter how short my days
to my night.
© Copyright D. Archer October 2011