#chalk writes

The memory of intentions dissolves into the pulverising routine.

It stops and restarts, each reset inviting a pang of despair,

Vacillating between tenderness and repulsion, a constant stalemate.

What other option is there but a rotting respite from the agonising progression,

Resembling nothing more than a crawl in place, in the stark mud of life,

The joy you bring me can't be put in words. The all-encompassing and overwhelming want To care for and nurture and purport To not forget the role or get postponed.

I look at you — and worrying starts anew; I pick apart and study all my aims In the attempt to stop it bleeding through, In vain, to quench desire in me to tame.

I'm on a plane, I'm off at sea, I'm where I've always meant to be. My pick, my plan, my self, my choice. I finally healed my broken voice.

The old skin shed and new still raw, I feel more strongly than before The wind, the sun, the heart, the mind - They let me leave the dread behind.

They trail the path Of the curve of your shoulders Out Into the blinding Shape of the sky

Yours are copper Molten Dancing And Joyous When you glance Away

They peek At the expanse Of the room between us Tension Around us - And just as fast They plummet

Yours are silver Shy And sure Wide open And so very close Without the glasses To replace them When you stare Ahead

They glare At the reflection Of themselves The only time They are safe To simply Stare

"The more things change, the more they stay the same". And when you're lifted up by waves of time, That doesn't mean you won't come crashing down And be swept back to right wherefrom you came.

Reflected in that current of events How tight you cling to semblance of flow While digging in your feet once ripples show And burrowing your head in deeper sands.

The murky future gets dispersed by light Only when gaze lifts up to meet the sun's breakthrough. You reach for it, but storm clouds reach for you Until you're left without a ray in sight.