SunnyStereoSound

Through the ages, through the years, I wonder what these shoulders could bear. A lifetime of love followed by another of woe You become a needle to stitch and sew The Fate's threads are never ending, Your eyes keep depending On your ability to foresee You always know what will be. Your words and rhymes prophesize, The same days and years you have come to despise. Until you realise. It is different this time. There is you and there is me. And we are what will always be.

Old clothes slide on the skin like mausoleum night shifts Those ghosts of the party, the beach and the cried out nights Lift the soul to the floor. The stitching is too tight and my legs are itching to be free They drape the flesh like blinds that were alright for old me       But now I have grown. My style is the same but more defined like Biro ink on lined paper The yellow lemon drop retro skirt of the fifties but I made it 00’s The cars zoom all over it, still to be worn With the baggy Shelley shirt. My gig dress catching dust, as a memory of first musical occasion Too classy too feminine to be emo But that was it Team Jacob

On my minds eye’s edge I waver, And watch those watery depths that did acclaim your soul. Did they wind around you?   The same way they taunt the shore? A prisoner of the oceans rush, but I knew it was always more. No, I knew you; it could not be so simple, a death known by so few But I will make sure you still achieve your goal, By hand and heart I will continue this labour. Of Love, I know yours for me was settling into a cosy armchair To read and grow old while you gazed at another so bold. Although my pulse never faltered; Except in envy. From the earliest memory, From home to here, the depths of emotion never altered. Now I am

Alarm on a September eve As a diseased swarm it, Descends,                    whipping sickly veins, That taunt the twilight a deathly black. The chill gnaws on unaware leaves; Their rotting carcasses still                                               Stumble                                                            To                                                              The Earth, Raining destruction as you walk through the snarling wind. Cold embrace forbids passage But with old armour woven you head forth Further into its hollow lair. The birds flee in flitting flight,                                            

Warning bells; they ring. Louder.  Louder like a banshees dying lament. Shrieking.  Louder.  It had been foretold but I did not believe it. How could it be possible?  Run to the window. People are panicking, scarpering like a blind gaggle of geese through my tiny cobbled street. I need to run. I need quiet. I want the light chatter of a market day to return, although it will not. I need safety. I need to run. Where will mother and father be? Fathers forge? The market? My newlywed sister's home? Will they come back for me? Should I find them? The gap between the bells shortens. The melodies of angels overcome by a devilish din of death that s