name. Jamie Machin
right now. Second year studying History and Arabic at the University of Edinburgh
The crackle of the heaven’s purple sword strikes the cold Savana,
Dragging life into existence for a second.
Dark creatures with thick skins form outlines on the horizon.
The pale grass whispers messages across the slopes of old.
Here is the time.
The time of death for some.
The time of life for many.
Out wander the long toothed killers, their fluorescent green eyes piercing the blackness.
Future victims seek cover in pits, holes and numbers.
The timeless cracked pillars of refuge creak and drift.
The orchestra of the night awakens.
The subtle chippers born out of lust,
The roaring beasts born out of anger.
A melody is made!
The accompaniment to the turning of time.
This sound knows of no instruction; it has no conductor.
Yet its creation is born out of the ultimate order.
The order which plots maps for winged singers,
Turns structures with no force,
Draws scaled dancers into land,
Designs coats for the great white kings of the north,
And flows through all the mortals of the night.
The unnecessary nature of worry
The bleak bitter end dwells in all,
The last breath exhaled never far away,
She has seen many come and many go,
Many steps tread into her bare earth,
She does not care nor feel their pain,
As life gently slips away,
When black is worn and church bells ring,
In all seasons; summer, winter, autumn, spring.
The black cloaked figure hides amongst shadows in wait,
To take your hand and softly lead you to the beyond,
Ever present but never seen.
Tears will be shed there is no doubt,
Life is fragile,
It deserves the bitter howl of loved ones when gone.
Yet in this moment hymns are not sung and heads do not look down,
In this moment life is bright and strong,
Like a hummingbird’s wing, it beats true and fast,
Take joy from these words for life is good,
Do not let spiders form their webs of anxiousness in you,
Those thoughts they catch, release them from their cage,
You are their master and they are not your sage,
Their wisdom is naught but a fabrication to sustain their needs.
Nothing more than a parasite that must feed,
Break the blackened worry from your mind,
Like the final moment of a total eclipse,
Allow the full spectrum of light that has been blocked for endless years,
To flood your body with its gracious warmth,
For you are not cold yet and you remain above the earth,
Heated blood runs through your veins,
Your consciousness alive and free,
Relish in its incandescent beauty,
Like the first glimpse of cherry blossom after the biting winter,
Take to the world and encapsulate burning desire at your hearth,
For he is there waiting for you,
That dark figure bound to your being,
He seeks nothing more than an enthralling story,
So make one true and colourful
Worthy of life, the greatest glory
We enter blind into this place of “assured happiness”.
Smile. Laugh. Be witty. Don’t let them see you.
I mean THE REAL YOU.
Not the person hidden behind the latest fad of fashion.
The oversized garments that allow acceptance into the tribe.
The population of common denominators.
Don’t you see, that is all it is. Individuals clinging to the common denominator.
Tears are banished. Yelps of the emotionally wounded unspoken.
If spoken in hush tones behind cold hands.
Only happiness is allowed here. We fear the other emotions.
We fear their personal nature.
Happiness is homogenous. Unhappiness is not.
We run from the latter because we can’t fully understand it. The dynamics too complicated.
We flee the scene because we are selfish. We do not want the burden.
Rather turn our shunning hands round, open your arms and enclose all you can.
Be their beacon of warmth and you might too melt.
Underneath is an incomparably beautiful spark.
We are not sheep. We are human.
Our differences make us who we are and what we can achieve.
Without differing strains of thought and style what would we have?
Pale cultures of a pale underworld powered by pale souls.
Let humanity shine. It is meant to shine. This world should be like an eclectic night sky when aurora is near.
Each releasing their wave of incandescent individuality to add to the tapestry of life.