Sonnets 53-56

Fraight with tension, the night wanders on,

Afraid to bring the condemning sunlight,

 That will bring closure to our Babylon,

And cease love's shy and stealthy fight.

 The covers daren't move, and neither do we,

In case our bodies may touch for an instant,

 And reveal our thoughts with lusty glee,

In a haughty, frantic, eager rant.

 But we lay still, both wide awake,

The sound of breaths the body"s code.

 My fingers itch, I feel her limbs shake,

 But we daren't alter the pillow's fold.

  The Sun appears, much to our relief,

  We're happy the light can be such a thief.

© menshallknownothingofthis.co.uk 8/12/2009

 Tears and fears drown your perfect face,

There’s nothing I can do to help you now,

 We’ve made too many mistakes to trace,

And mutilated our frail, sacred vow.

 I run the comb through your flowing hair,

A goodbye gesture in the mirror’s reflection,

 So we can play a last game of truth and dare,

One more pointless, painful dissection.

 Anger leaves echoes around the home,

It haunts the walls with a fierce embrace,

 That will remain after we leave the dome,

And we’re left homeless, a state of displace.

  I drop the comb, and leave our dying bedroom,

  Ready to enter the unknown, dank in gloom.

© menshallknownothingofthis.co.uk 27/12/2009

 The crowd shout out, beginning with ten,

About to start the eternal countdown,

 Vocalising the tolls of faithful Big Ben,

Counting the jewels in the New Year’s crown.

 They’re midway through with a hoarse five,

A drawn-out goodbye to a celestial whim,

 And on hope of rebirth the crowd does thrive,

Praying for glory, knowing chances are slim.

 Not long left until the chimes ring out,

And death becomes the obsolete year,

 But just to make sure, without any doubt,

The shout of ‘one’ brings renewal near.

  Now a hollow zero is left unsaid

  The people cheer as the old year is dead.

© menshallknownothingofthis.co.uk 1/12010

A clearing appears in the path of dust,

 Leading back to glossy and shiny glades,

Before it collapsed, before broken trust,

 Before our indulgent and selfish crusades.

Our faiths were different, they led us astray,

 From each other and the moral maze,

And soon we faltered, unsure of our way,

 Lost in preachers and malicious praise.

If the paths were opposed, the end was the same,

 Death for the saviour, in hope of glory,

But by then the pray had been struck lame,

 And we lost the moral of the overall story.

  Jerusalem was not the promised land,

  We were meant to take each other’s hand.

© menshallknownothingofthis.co.uk 11/4/2010