Tag Archives: shite

5 February

Do I prefer the ink-stained fingers
to a purple-blue heart?

Little will I care to share.
Little less will I care to know.

Behind covered eyes + quickened pulse
my act never brought me close to this
collapsed heart.

Will I never look up to see God’s command?
Forever will I sit head fitted against
songs of freedom

only made from a purple-blue bruised

My hand grows nicer by the night.
Alone, sit, to this detention of heart’s desire.
‘No not yet’ St Andrew whispers.
‘No not yet despite your heart’s desire.
Trust in me, will you fellows see.’

Listens the beggar beyond belief.


For whom the bell toils

Quieted audience
patty-cake they played and won with
themselves. Their thighs wearing soldiers marks
from a soldiers tune march.

They all would away from Jungle and play
war until their deaths. Saved by the Western world,
ill thought of their graves.

Life to them, saved by faith, was of childish wonder
and even more childish taste.

To those I envy behind my wooden scowl.
To those whom God blesses in his prayers
before he rests.

To those who away and anger by all who didn’t
pass the test.

For whom the bell toils, it ain’t for all. God’ll
only know.

For whom the bell toils, send my regards from this
godforsaken foreign soil.