The Door Closes on Time

The door closes on time
Do not hinge on the turn
The face of anger attests
To the vague notions of guilt

Assuage not the anger
It will sate not the appetite of need
Social convulsions bear fruit
Thus labour be forced in thy course

The step into shadow
Is the guide to light
Cast upon the verbose legality
To wage war on youth's plight

Thy body is shield
But no sword in hand for thee
Yet the innocence of dawn reminds
To open the door and see

I wrote this very quickly, just a matter of hours after being assaulted by a service user, who decided to utilise a door in the process

Glory in rain

The rain

To me

No pain,

But free

Hope lain.

Showers be

Route to sane.

I see

No gain

For us to feign

Life’s sea

As soul’s bane.

Pay no fee

To the water train,

Find glee

And gracious refrain,

Of solace in me

With glory in rain. 

A reference to my love of the rain and the way that it makes me feel more alive

Cone

There is moisture in the air

The cone of nature that lingers

The spirit of ancient wanderers

Ripples through the knots of land

Each placid landscape reveals

Open terra firma of purity

Away from the urban aridness

The soul of the physical plane stays

And in that gentle serenity

Opportunity sits patient

To capture the mark of the land

And revel in that mutually reachable vista.

A friend of mine recently mentioned how the air in the local area is much more moist than that of urban areas, and the poem just grew from there.