Out past the blinking lights of electric existence, far beyond the polluted horizons- A single cry echoes across the clamouring earth. From the dirtied, used, ruined bellies of haggard mistakes falls an angel. Never has anything purer graced the soil upon which that miracle lays- For this glorious moment, all of human filth, destruction, hatred, … Continue reading Children Of Men
sleep
A Fictional Letter Of Unrequited Love.
My dear, how do I tell you I love you so that it rings truer than any other triplet of words you’ve heard? So that the sincerity, the profundity, of my honest convictions can permeate into the depths of your well-kept soul. This conundrum would deprive me of countless nights of summer night’s sleep during … Continue reading A Fictional Letter Of Unrequited Love.
Tired
Sat down at a creaking desk, With a broken pen and rusty hands, I write this down; The draft from the window gives my skin a texture, My coffee is cold. It’s raining outside again - I’m yawning once more Huddled in a borrowed jumper, I’ve almost found the right words – But not … Continue reading Tired
‘Lonely People Are Always Up In The Middle Of the Night’
Staring out up into the abundance of stars and making wishes between my visible breaths, Watching how my whispered words fogged up the window- Then disappear like thoughts, My hands are empty, and the fingertips are cold, Pressing them gently against my skin- sending shivers like ripples over a calmed sea. My favourite book lies … Continue reading ‘Lonely People Are Always Up In The Middle Of the Night’
Goodnight.
Rolling over me like sun warmed waves on tropical beaches, an enveloping silence wraps around my brain. Protective. I dream of nothing, no thoughts, no sounds. For a while I don't even exist - removed from time and place - in my own internal restorative limbo. The indescribable feeling of being nothing consumes me and … Continue reading Goodnight.
3:34 AM
That inescapable feeling that the world is wide awake without you. You can hear the gentle breathing of a city full of dreamers, you can feel the pull of your eyelids and you are warm and cozy in your bed, but the screeching of tires on concrete pulls you towards your window. You hesitate but something … Continue reading 3:34 AM
Alicia Jones Poetry 