Time Snatcher

Submitted to OpenLinkNight with dVersePoets on Tuesday 4th December.

Bags of time sag endlessly over the mind’s eye.
They cloud every aspect of a day, and they still try
To eat into the insects infested in the lesson, lunch, tea break and sleep.
Muggy, grey clouded aura.
Smiling politely, nodding silently,
Recoiling towards a blissful clam,
Sleep and darkness, away from the dazzling aches of the day.
Self-infliction of self reveals a true identity: a true picture?
Or a matisse inspired manipulation, accentuating fault and shadowing praise,
Cross-hatching your peceived confidence.


Late House

Ours is a late house,
Driven by plasma screens.
Ours is a late house,
Caffeine injected dreams.
Ours is a late house,
Motionlessly ‘sleeping’ fiends.
Mine is a late mind,
Streaming the ashes of the day.


The milkman blazes through the sleeping streets, to shatter hypnos’s desires. His van is old, ancient if you will, mummified in a forgotten era when his trade was required, in use, but now nearly expired.

I on the other hand lie in blissful calm, the purgatory state between the living and the dead. God would render me in the waiting room, ready to travel into light or the darkness if my background check was passed. But it’s becoming a familiarity, me and the square world unfolding in front of me, keeping me company whilst waiting for my soul to be transported to blissful sleep.