Beasts.

Amidst the bustle of a Sunday car boot sale,
stands a man supported by an ageing cane.
The table before him is adorned with
all manner of statues and idols:
goblins and demons that mostly look the same.
The car in which he'd arrived had
tinted windows to keep curiosity outside -
to a world in which he'd often thought
all manner of wicked beasts reside.
It wasn't until he found his wife
draped over another man,
that he then realised:
the greatest evil lies inside.

Silence.

The moment transcends silence and slips into serenity.
A fisherman casts his line into the water
beating against the rocks.
The clouds above shed the water that binds them
and the gentle breeze gathers its forces
into a gust that makes theatre of golden locks.
Walking in our direction, a group of teenagers
wearing hoodies and their attitudes
stop to watch a bird fly overhead.
The fisherman checks that his watch
still ticks and tocks,
but hears distant teenage profanities instead.
I can barely feel the rain and cold
whilst your lips are between my own.
The world becomes but a distant distraction
and our surroundings cease to be.
The moment transcends silence
and slips into serenity.

Rose.

It was the height of Winter.
The cold soared and the wind whistled
as a dense darkness descended onto the city.
What little light the street lamps could afford
was spent upon the city square;
for a crowd of murmuring passers-by
had ceased to pass and gathered there.
The clouds too, seemed to slow -
as if the Heavens themselves should care.
A few now sat upon the snow,
but all stayed fixed as if by snare.
For stood where nothing ever grows -
a solitary Moscow rose.

Departure.

Blue skies turn to grey,
as the cold begins to bite.
The water across the bay
chops and turns with no respite.
A solitary ship leaves today
- maybe for ever more.
"Good times ahead", they say,
but I can't leave the shore.

Unforgettable.

I've been grappling with my words all month.

I've twisted phrases and fired metaphors,
searching for words of comfort and love.
They rolled pleasantly off of the tongue...
but ultimately were empty.

Nothing more than expressions of obligation,
lacking sentiment but carrying hyperbole aplenty.
Broken prose masquerading as poetry...
both verbose and regrettable.

So I'll go with words from a friend more eloquent than I:
"I need you to understand that you are entirely unforgettable."

Prisoner.

The flash of lightning turned her beauty to a silhouette,

and the consequent thunder conquered her voice

when the young Prisoner and the Dark Knight met.

She knelt before the Knight's steed

as the rider made his choice,

still sat upon the saddle watching the Prisoner beg and plead.

His ebony armour still carrying innocent blood,

he slowly lowered himself to the ground -

a scorched landscape drowned in mud.

The Knight raised his crimson sword above his head.

It sang to the storm-filled sky as it

swung towards the girl,

but it hit her chains instead.

Simmer.

A haunting shade of blue covers the dashboard
as the dull roar of the engine turns to a whimper.
Between specks of dirt and dust lies a road,
where the street lamps' pools of light can make thoughts linger.
One by one they flicker and fade,
submerging the road
into a desperate darkness that will fill your mind and slowly simmer.
The wheels start to turn as the brakes are released,
and the gap between you and the unknown becomes thinner.