Well beings

It’s such blissful joyto drink from love’s well,But as we drink and drinkthe well starts to fell.The water subsides,Stagnant sludge starts to show,Only rain, the sweet tearsWill bring back what we know.See, the well has been loving,But it’s end is so nye,It’s that bitter-sweet tangOf a well running dry.And we’re putting our faith In past…

This dance

This dance is not for the faint of heart,It is for the ones who make the choiceTo unshackle pasts, allow freedom’s start,Screaming out loud at the top of their voice -“I choose to dance in the midday rain.Drink-in the sweet wine of lover’s lips,Give all to my love and none to my pain,Free my mind…

Painting

Your thoughts paint your world.The darker they are,the harder it is to find your way.Yet in the blackness of night,even the smallest of light glows oh so bright.~ Mark

Enough

I am all I have to be in this world. I can become more, I can learn, and I can be more, but one thing holds true … right now, I am enough. The hardest part is believing that. ~ Mark

These arms

Are open to surround your soul, To touch, be touched, soft and firm in bonding brace of love entwined; to wrap fierce ’round your fiery mind. Enclosing warmth in knowing strength of all which lies much deeper still. To share and mend the blistered scars Of life and all its shrapnel thrown, To bruise and…

Tick

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

End game

Spill the cheapest wine, most expensive Grange, you will see the end is near the same. For it’s not the plonk drenched on the floor, it’s your fears possessed, left wanting more. To be left heightened in a state of need to keep things clean in fear of greed. For it’s not the spill it’s…

Storm clouds

Sometimes the bluest of skies rolls by ever so slow and gracefully, and it leaves me wondering, Will a storm ever come by again? ~ 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…