The Church

Freedom expelled from the hearts of the believers
Tortured and beaten
They fell to the ground

United they lie
Hollow shells of the men they once were
Souls driven out by the fear within them

Bricked up and banished
The kingdom fell into disarray
The wild ones were gone



Inspired by the Black Veil Brides newest album Wretched And Devine. Its defiantly proving to be a strong source of inspiration for me at the moment.

Sepia Tint

Sepia tinted windows and doors
Time fingers itself down the chipped paint walls
Tracing the fine lines of the ceiling and the floor
Tiptoeing across the roaring creaks of the floorboards 

Sepia stained memories
A time when the sun peeked through the curtains
And danced through the trees 
Wild as a blood velvet rose

Sepia kissed lips 
Lyrics of love: coated in vinyl 
Three dimensions of perfect imperfections
Echoing a noise filled silence

Sepia worn tears
Phrases of love, hope and regret 
Running down the page
Written on paper and signed with a black ink kiss

Sepia painted sunshine 
Warm glowing memories, coated in silver
Where trench-coats and gas masks
Are dying with age

Context: A nostalgic poem inspired partly by the film Midnight in Paris and by the incredible singer King Charles, following the idea being that yesterday is always going to be better than today and that ideas ,including love, only deteriorate with time. The sepia tinted world that I discuss in this poem is reference not only to the sepia tinted photographs seen in old photographs, but also to the warm friendly atmosphere that it gave to the photographs. 

A Prize Of Some Sort

Sepia tinted, spiralling lights made up of rubies, emeralds and ambers drifting through the sky. The sticky sweet stagnant air lingers on my breath a bitter sweet reminder of yesterday. A hollow sound whips through the empty rides, with the sorrow hum of loneliness. I break.
Sitting on the edge of the battered old swing set, the rusty chains creak as I move, making me feel slightly less alone. I adjust my vision, the bold black rims cracked and smudged with yesterdays memories. Tracing the line of my collar bone I clutch hold of a new silver chain lying solemnly against my chest, a prize of some sort won by some sweetheart that left me along with the night.

Context: a short story written at a creative writing session, I randomly chose an object, place, time of day and season (fairground, pair of glasses, morning and autumn)
the story tells the tale of a morning after a night at the fair, where the subject can not remember what happened, she is left with a new necklace, broken glasses and a blurred memory of the night before.

Jester

Jester they cried
To the black and white fellow
With the tears in his eyes