That Fantasy

Come take my hand,

I’ll soon be the sand that
Blows near the ocean
But never settles down,

A sound like a whisper
Born from a dead tongue,

A finished elixir,
A temporary fixture,
A song partly sung,

And the fun
Of a gun
That’s never shot

Anyone.

To Love

Dawn’s tickled birdsong
A dew fresh hallelujah
Alive in your eyes

Toying With Hatred

They pickled us in vinegar,

Tart words spat across main roads,

The punch of running scuffles,

TV violence daydreams
And the glorifications.

In time

We learned to sit on benches
And take it,
All pastel lipped,

Toying with hatred.

Then one day we awoke in unison

Wet as dew,

A shimmering new,

All camaraderie and truth,

Electrified
And ready,

This will not be
The can’t
Or the won’t,

We thought,

We have swollen our hearts
And we’re ready for battle.