On the progress bar of our love,
One of us is always buffering.
It’s not our fault,
The content is loading too quickly,
It’s too heavy,
Too heavy to hold all at once.
Each catches up with the other,
But the path stretches on,
Stretches out before us.
We know that the song will be beautiful.
When no ways show ?
When all days go
So fast that all decision falls away
Slain by the uselessness of argument ?
For ? Against ? That hardly seems the point.
The question’s not as trite as leave or stay,
The pain’s too great, the shattered pieces spray.
Blood has run and surely time’s run out.
My mind is numb, my very breath is spent,
Before me only grey.
Bogwisps twist reality to gone
And yet I must go on.
I must, I must, yet how loud need I shout,
Who must I slay ?
There are no sign-posts,
Around me only traps and slurry,
Cliffs, chasms, twine to trip me, chains to tie me,
I cannot breathe.
Why must I struggle, gasp, grasp, flail, flay ?
Can I not simply let go ?
Let go ?
Do I fear to release my aching fingers from these slimy bleak-black roots,
And let myself be snatched by the flow ?
And the jagged rocks and the swirling currents and the overhangs the underhangs the airless icy depths the pain.
Why can’t I play ?
The sky that morning was a fabulous orangey-red glow.
I was at one with the shepherds’ warning : things could hardly get worse, it had been between -15 and -5 for the past two weeks, and the last couple of days had seen no sun.
As I looked out over the greygreenwhite snow,
strengthening towards light,
my cat walked up onto the edge of the patio.
The vibrant rays were full on him, and he was transformed from being a very ridiculous big-black-stripe big-white-stripe big-black-stripe into a mixture of peach and coal-gold.