Midnight’s War
The moon is spilling from the sky
Like a veil settling over the peaks and valleys of that metallic skyline
That you can taste in your mouth
Like the blood on the cracked pink of your lips
Reminding you of the salt on the edge of your chin
That’s lingering long after that physical representation of your insides declared your swollen eyes the battleground.
At least under that blue cloak of invisibility
The soldiers are but ghosts
Seen only by those who killed them.
But a small consolation
When you are haunted by the clip-clopping hooves of abandoned battle horses,
The roars of false hope
And the faint clashing of swords
Like a bad ear worm
Stuck three quarters of the way through an apple
Wiggling.
Not quite rotten enough to show it
But just rotten enough to have a faint odour
That no one can quite put their finger on
A second or two later forgetting,
Just like that.
Daybreak’s Harmony
The sun is spilling from the sky
Like a blanket settling over the peaks and valleys of that snowy skyline
That is melting on the tip of your tongue
Like a snowflake in a fairytale
Reminding you of the warmth in your fingers
That’s spreading all over you the way you would imagine it feels
To hug a person long lost in the past.
There, standing in that snug coat
Of what can only be described as happiness
You smile at nothing:
A round-about recipe of several small somethings
That always fails to make it to your recipe book
And can never quite be described
Like a grandmother’s home cooking that tastes like the person who cooked it
And can never taste as good from any other cook.
Although it lasts mere seconds
Until a phone buzzes
A baby cries
Or an ill-placed cloud appears
They are mere seconds worth more
Than the other forty-three-thousand, one-hundred-and-ninety-five seconds a day.
- Charlie B.
Photographs are not my own.