Poem 21 of 30

Refresh this mind of mine, in all its weariness.

Replace this heart of mine: grant me flesh for stone.

Take these thoughts of mine, so dark and twisted:

so that my mind can think of beauty again.

 

Poem 20 of 30

The winter air has arrived before its time,

travelling north from icy Antarctic wastelands.

The wind is cold and seeps into the marrow

until the heartbeat slows and the mind turns inward,

falling into itself in a prison made of frozen bone pillars.

There is nothing left but

to watch the blue skies peer between the storm clouds.

[In case it’s not immediately obvious, this was written at the culmination of a very chilly autumn day in the southern part of mainland Australia. It can get very cold here!]

Poem 19 of 30

What can I do when something so beautiful is so close,

so near to touch, to hold,

and so simple to possess –

when the only payment required would be

to accept a curse of death and sorrows mingled with fear?

To want it, but to never have, nor to hold:

endless temptation and endless pain.