I Hear the Bells Sound

I hear the bells sound,

Big and black and hollow,

Lost inside the buried spaces,

Between you and between me,

Cold wet teeth suck on my heart,

Soft crone fingers pull out my blood,

My nerves, without a mouth, they scream.

© G.R. Yeates 2010

Dead Trees and Quiet Alleys

I would not live here,
If I could,
I would live elsewhere,
In quiet alleys,
Lit by the underglow,
Of dying streetlamps,
Burnt sodium trees,
The cries of cold children,
Black static air,
An old man's bones,
Scattered,
Some here, Some there,
No, I would not live here,
When I could be dead there.

© G.R. Yeates 2010

I see nothing and it is something

I see a darkness.

Then, the world,
As we see it,
Settles over it,
Obscures it.

White light,
Bright lies.

The hands of god,
Closed the curtains,
Cut out our eyes,
Left us blind.

Darkness abides,
Whilst this damned light burns.

Soon will be the time,
Where all of the lights go out.

We must wait.
We must wait.

G.R. Yeates © 2010

Thoughts on the past

In misery, there is comfort, cold,
In pain, solace, all alone.

The grey veil of yesterday,
Masks the rotting faces,
Of every tomorrow.
G.R. Yeates © 2010

Thoughts on the future

One day, reality itself will be worn away,
Worn out, frayed.
Nothing but withered white sticks,
Bloodied stumps remaining, standing.
Bare knuckles, dead,
Poking out through soft, grey ground.
G.R. Yeates © 2010