A city gripped by dark,

Light scuttled out

Sinking ship deserted.

Candles sputtered,

Pain like hot wax

Spat at random

On sweating streets,

Ice cold but fevered,

Hysteria coursing through the vein.

Hope hidden in a crumbling cellar

Struggled to keep its flame

Alight, a beacon bright and true,

For those that chose to see it

In the almost all

Consuming Dark.

© Greg Richards


Immortal Love

The wind blows soft

Through swinging bone

Brittle wind chime

Banging to the tempo

Of a mournful wind.

Life parched but heavy

With night’s memory,

Dew like sheen

Yet to endure

The morning sun and

Dry desert sand’s

Desiccating Touch.

Bones dry but not yet spent

Impervious to the West wind’s plea,

Spent Hyacinth petals

Faded and curled like

Burnt paper about its feet.

In his mind he travelled still

And sought the warmth

Of hearth and a lovers Soft

Tender corporeal embrace.

Dark2 (Inspired by #1LineWed)

In the bright midday sun
Dark spread like Ink.
People’s Eyes were Open
As they ran blindly
At brick walls
Unclimbable mountains
And insurmountable obstacles,
Modern day windmills tilting.
Man had always wished for more,
Journeyed with hope
A beacon that lit the way
When light was lost
Obscured or hidden,
But now nothing
Illumined the tangled path,
For hope, like the stuttering candle
Was all but extinguished,
Whilst people would not
Hold it right, or high
To let a little light ignite the way,
But fumbled with their papers,
Longitude and extolled in print or bytes
Their digital guides,
The AI that said the path was just so.
And twisted logic
Led them inexorably
But definitively
Off the edge of the cliff,
Some comfortably reading
Dacre & Whittow
As the wind rushed by
So much hot air
To comfort them
And the ground rushed up
Hard granite facts
Smacked resoundingly.
And all the king’s horses
And all the king’s men
Couldn’t make sense
Of the resulting mess they made.

© Greg Richards