Secrets....

Candle, candle burning bright
To you, i give my secret tonight
No-one shall hear
No-one shall see
Just the candle, flame and me
This brings no harm
So mote it be.

Candleburning - Matthew Bowden www.digitallyrefreshing

Perfume....

Perfume, Pathe (UK)

A fondant kiss on sugary, honeyed lips

The melodius harmony, your oderous scent

With mild charm and delight

I gratefully taste you, pleasure you

Breathing, your nectarous candy

Mellow, balmy, fragrant and pure

My luscious, fair lady

How beautifully dulcet

Agreeable to me

So pleasant the attraction, soft

In serenity i engage you

Gentle and cloying

Enjoy the affection

The mellifluous sound

Music of love

A clean, fresh tune

The redolence of silver-toned

Spiced sweetness.

Evael.... enola em.... (Κασσάνδρα)....

Curseus anolonta en evael pre tersa

et naeu contista var raira va versia

Pre luani vou fasicur em oni et marcis

et tasia va evael vou fau et corravis

Aeni oni var versius yatista

eclasi ta naeu contiste-enola.

Leave me alone....

You will never know.... me.

Underneath, i am afraid, you

are just like me.

You will never know this.... or yourself.

Stone....

Seek, and i shall find.... myself

Under a stone with faded ladybug wings

Secreted behind a veiled face

Every way, every direction

Rain bowed colours, merely distractions from

Distracting from....

Complexion

Holding on to slippery grasses

Mired in sluggish trails

Easily avoided but....

Oh, the temptation

It will arise again?

A nice, kind (of) anxiety

Foolishly endured

Dry ground but, an absent step

Away.... a leap too far?

A futile faith

Hope in the eyes of ages

Every age, ever present....

Past

Has been passed

By, and now?

Receiving hands weak, procures

Wearily entrusts, once more

Just once?

Draw on those wings for they will not fly

Don the shroud and sojourn labyrinth

Possess the disguise of vivacity

Dwell

Beneath the graved stone.

Ugly....

I'm a sycophant.

I'm a stranger.

Why am i here?

I don't conform here

and i wish i was appropriate.

Pain....

Pain is part of the body's defence system, triggering mental and physical behavior to end the painful experience. It promotes learning so that repetition of the painful situation will be less likely.

Despite its unpleasantness, pain is an important part of the existence of humans and other animals; in fact, it is vital to healthy survival. Pain encourages an organism to disengage from the noxious stimulus associated with the pain.

An unpleasant feeling, sensation, or emotion....

Redemption.... i will not question. That comes from you.
Pain is a good indication of existence.... and of feeling. Without pain we know no comfort. Everything you are, is all you have been. Would you want to be anyone else??
You expect to feel pain, you will make others feel too. It is human, it is real. It is necessary??
The past cannot be repaired.... but we learn from it. There is no need to bring your suffering with you in every circumstance, to everyone you meet??
We are here now, new to one another, not knowing.... not needing to know....
You are the only person, the only body, you have. One life.... your own. Do with it what you will.

Together....

If you are with someone, you can be described as being together. Being together, with someone, makes your existence real....
If something is real, it stands for the truth. To be true is to feel.
If you feel someone, really 'feel' them, you touch them. Touch their mind, body, heart and soul.... It doesn't get more real than this. Therefore you must truly exist....

Origins....

THE WHITE DRAGON SHALL RISE AGAIN....

No Stars in the Night....

Life is but an entrapment my friend. How beautifully presented, what promise.... It is both given and taken in one breath, in one spoken word. Is your life your own, to do with as you please, is it yours to live, to enjoy, to fulfil or to end? Oh, it is appreciated. The work of an artist, the words of a writer. The inspiration to take part to enrich the gift? To belong and be a part of.... to be accepted and appreciated. An ideal. Extinguished, the flame of hope and you my friend.... Where are you? Did you share this life with me? A promise so dear. And it is broken....

The Wrong Day....

One Sunday, recently....
I cried, my heart.... Echoed around the world, those hungry, lonely and lost. What was my pain to theirs? I could not eat, i had no friend and i didn't have direction....
What, indeed, was my suffering on that one day, compared to a lifetime of Sundays? Do they have more hope than i? I cut and burned this pathetic life to see if it would end, and did it? Did i lose? Loss is lost only if it was gained. Nothing was gained, nothing real.... just the echoes in a shallow pond. A dazzling, plastic wrapper containing nothing but, sourness. The situation, fruitless. An unripe apple is no use, will not feed the hungry. There is no point feeding the hungry if you cannot eat yourself. What does friendship mean if your stomach is empty? Friendship may fill a cried out heart? Is this where you need your friend to be? To share your pain? I would not share these feelings with the world. The world has its own problems, i will not burden. I will eat, make a friend and find myself once more.... on a sun filled day.

Marbles....

Incomplete.
Untied.... uncertain stories with faceless tales.

Never a stone placed so distant.

Remains the pieces, remains the same.

Owned by none, no maker or mason

just the bureaucracy of a selfish nation.

A historical text out of context....

Take them home to where they belong.

The purpose they serve

forgotten.

A moment in time, frozen.

Letter to Lucretia....

Letter to Lucretia....
You won't like me now........ or what i have become. I am still an artist, however, i do not paint any more. A true artist will struggle in life and it is his job to resent the inferior copiers, producers of commercial kitsch. I will not give any more. I refuse to legate my talent to a fat cat which will only make them fatter. She who owns a tower block shaped like a fruit press will not own me or mine. She who squeezes the block's occupants dry. No, she will not benefit from my work. She will not enjoy the benefits of my work again. She whose only talent is to make money from Philistines. She who is not family........ or friend. She whose life is theatre, who is merely an actor. For a true artist does not have a career. These souls you will put on a show for, who are they? Do you really know them or what they really want/need? Will they get to know you........ how i once did? While they exist in your tower block, do you see them? When you make a show to prove you care to mop up their life-blood and tell them all is fair. What happens when you leave? When the cameras stop rolling and the light is taken away? Is it not better to never have known warmth than to experience it for a few minutes in a long, cold lifetime? I know you........ i know you well. You are the privileged girl from one year down who required of me to draw her this and describe her that. And i did........ i did anything i could to please you even though i found you sometimes waring. I knew one day you would return my favours with your kindness........ you were my warmth. So when do we marry as you once promised? When do we come together to see the people we once were........ and who we are now? There is no need........ you see me every day my dear Lucretia as i am your reflection. All you despise in me is all that is within you but, are too scared to acknowledge, to accept or ever dare reveal. Do you recognise me? Do you know me? Did you ever? I am now a part of you but, i always have been........ i was your tower. I tried to please you in every way as i was sure you'd be kind enough to return the favour one day........ i am still waiting........ did you forget about me? How can you bring out the best in someone who you actively avoid? You'll get your tower in the sky one day, you'll find someone only too willing to build it for you. However, it will not be exactly how you want it. You'll need a true artist to give you exactly what you want. Yes, you'll get your plastic tower but it will be the artist in a shoe box who will run free. Yes, you will have your tower but, there will always be a part of you unfulfilled. You'll never see my drawings again. You'll never ask me to draw for you again.