The Desert of Your Mind.
In the desert of your mind are sharp crystalline stone’s
Cutting into everything you see.
The glaze of your bunsen burner eyes
Sears into the day
Making it a thing already charred.
Compassion is a word you print on T shirts
Empathy a shampoo in your shower...
The sheen on your kitchen sink
Mirrors your reflection..you gaze
You sigh..there is nothing in your day
That is not yesterday.....that will not become tomorrow...
The heat of the desert air clangs at the window
And you remain , never, going anywhere.
No birds sits to sing in your stunted tree
The un-welcome pigeon flew away
Leaving your garden as dry as a old man’s bone.
There is nothing natural left
Your skin is polished photo shop.
The hours spent adding the gaudy to the banal on your P.C.,
Are as empty as the content of your day .
Now...your babble fades away
Like the rattle of a dying desert snake.
Life kicks at the glass door..
The joker cometh...knocks but
You have not heard ..
At night your Oedipus Blanket wraps you in a noisy chrysalis
The acid of your day
Worms into your dreams
So that by morning you are drenched in your own venom
And screech again.
kristine byrne 30th july..2012 The Desert of Your Mind.
In the desert of your mind are sharp crystalline stone’s
Cutting into everything you see.
The glaze of your bunsen burner eyes
Sears into the day
Making it a thing already charred.
Compassion is a word you print on T shirts
Empathy a shampoo in your shower...
The sheen on your kitchen sink
Mirrors your reflection..you gaze
You sigh..there is nothing in your day
That is not yesterday.....that will not become tomorrow...
The heat of the desert air clangs at the window
And you remain , never, going anywhere.
No birds sits to sing in your stunted tree
The un-welcome pigeon flew away
Leaving your garden as dry as a old man’s bone.
There is nothing natural left
Your skin is polished photo shop.
The hours spent adding the gaudy to the banal on your P.C.,
Are as empty as the content of your day .
Now...your babble fades away
Like the rattle of a dying desert snake.
Life kicks at the glass door..
The joker cometh...knocks but
You have not heard ..
At night your Oedipus Blanket wraps you in a noisy chrysalis
The acid of your day
Worms into your dreams
So that by morning you are drenched in your own venom
And screech again.
Kristine Byrne 30th july..2012