Tick

She was the mechanism that made his second hand tick. ~ Mark Thompson

Foragers

Together they danced with devils, pushing biological clocks to the nth. They tasted the fruits that natural law neither forbade nor considered. They were the truly free, not concerning themselves with the myths of wrongs, or the perceived, collective rights of us. The tether of other’s thoughts – sometimes mistaken for heart-felt flutters of empathy…

Fuck you

Wearily I laugh at the racist jokes my ignorant, tunnelled-brother tells, as I fear my voice will take on none whilst my truth resides in darkened swells. I fear that if I reached deep down into that deep and cavernous well – that not yet a dam of bursting pour, that I will find that…

Ant

What if youwere going about your day,when all of a suddena giant so large,so completely unfathomable,stomped on your world,destroying everythingyou had come to know. Your home destroyed,your village, your crops,your friends, your family,life snuffed out,life disregarded,destroyed in an instant. What if wewere all antsto a giant? Think about that next time you step on an…

Cityrail

Herded cattle, eyes on glass, ears plugged in. A bustling train – so empty; the walking dead. What’s your fear? Fear of contact? Of culture? Of difference? Of the unknown? Smile. Try it. Just once. Make a play. Open up. Closed. No response. Darkness fading. End of the tunnel, Bringing forth the bright. Sunlight ripples…

Sweet refrain

In sweet refrain she found herself observing that which held her back, by taking pause to reflect upon her inner voice – the right, the wrong. From within, she searched and found a treasure held in sunken chest, a heart that beats in love, not pain, beneath her fears, in sweet refrain. ~ Mark Thompson

The Banyan Tree

The banyan tree danced in gentle sway long before this urbanised decay took its place; the selfish choice of man, with a need for more – a master plan? The banyan grew in twists of knowing, knotted in fear; man’s need for growing, and whilst now saved from the sap-drenched axe, others made way for…

Compass

She was his North. ~ Mark Thompson

Coffee?

She was the extra-hot expresso. Her taste kick-starting his day – her petite, aromatic dance tantalising his taste buds, picking him up with a playful bite to his lip. She was the heat he knew, the heat he loved and cherished. Each and every morning, each and every day. ~ Mark Thompson

Heart of gold

Her heart’s not of gold as a good heart should be. It was molded from birth through ash-filled past days, mistakes and dismay. Through times so unjust, fear-fuelled through mistrust, dripping muddy-teared faces and tempting memory erases. The lessons now known gave her heart the way, in compassionate trust to see through the storm, to…