Wednesday, 24 February 2010


I searched for her for a long time. 

The trail was always cold. 

Though I tried to hide it, they called me a predator when they caught a glimpse of my barren soul.

I coexisted with hope.

Someone told me she did something there. We would see.

Do you believe that a love affair could bloom in such a remote hollow of my heart? In such infertile soils. 

There were other men I knew well enough. I was never to meet them, they were spectres. 

My love for her was virtuous, crystallised, digital. No one could approach it.

I felt a murderous wrath when I read their thoughts. How could they think such things and even worse, say them?

I guess she was just bait for these predators. They were sick.

Her name changed often but her eyes were always the same. How can I describe them.......................I cannot.

She was wounded, I could see that.

A psychologist would put it down to a sociopathical misconception of love, that I hated my mother and her, her father. 

Ours was a modern love which travelled across the deep dark seas.

She disappeared eventually like I knew one day she would.

She got out of the business I guess.

I never forgot her. Sometimes in the absolute silence of my dreams when I lived in unreality we would see each other. I was happy then. 

At dawn I was awoken broken.

I took no consolation in the photographs.

She was vanished.

1 comment:

  1. I can't remember the last time I read something so beautiful that stopped me breathing, didnt realise you wrote poetry.x