The Hope Museum

Now you have taken
Everything,
/
You shattered me
To smithereens
/
You buried me alive
And kept
/
My heart
In a glass box
/
To watch it
Rot
/
On a dark shelf in your museum
Of hope;
/
You win – you’ve taken
Everything:
/
The arms I fought
With
/
And the light I fought
For

The Cocoon

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This night,

It hasn’t dressed me for the morning:

I’m still in a cocoon

Of interwoven blacks and blues

/

Staring at dawn,

I cannot feel daylight returning,

Or touching me –

It’s just a colour, of no use

/

To me,

A terribly disturbed spectator,

Watching an artist’s brush,

Envying him his muse

/

To me,

Self-tried and sentenced perpetrator,

Sharing the maze-like cell

With my self-righteous jury

/

Tonight

I put my hands over my eyes and

I sew them up

With threads as strong as needles

/

I lock my nightmares

From the outside world within me:

They’ll be

The only things I see for years

/

I’ll write of them

And paint them with my blind hands;

One day

I’ll hear you ask me: ‘what is that?’

/

I won’t reply;

With monsters pushing through

My numb lips,

I’ll go to sleep in my cocoon instead

The Counting-Out Rhyme

One, two – sigh – three

Yes, this truck’s the one for me

 

It is fast, and big, and heavy

It can take me straight to heaven

 

Four, five, six, seven

My heart’s open, I will never

 

Want, or fail, or swear again, or

Blame and hate for being blamed

 

Eight, and nine, and ten – and go,

Such heavy wheels, such an endless road

A Walk

A fatigue of a thousand years in my heart that was never young

Made my skin the colour of the days which won’t bloom under winter sun

And the weight of a thousand bricks, which I walk with to build a home

Turned my back into a plate of steel which reflects the sky’s flawless dome

 

With my feet rooted in the trail, I stand still and I look ahead

My stiff arms, like two dried out twigs, reach for someone I couldn’t have

And a rain of tears, long suppressed, waters dust of the thirsty road

Like a flower of sand and clay your grey clone grows out of my sobs

 

It starts kissing my ugly face, looking into my melting eyes

And it says that it loves me. Please, do not say this, or I will die!

Dust to dust, but I’m still alive – my one breath and you’re naught but ash

Which I look down on like the worlds which I’ve built and broken myself

 

I’m alone on the road once more, bending lower with every step

Dust to dust, and I’ll crawl to there, where my brick home is meant to stand

And the fatigue of a thousand years, and my heart that was never young

Will, perhaps, break out of my chest, so I could smile at the winter sun