How Things Change

 

It was familiar when we were younger.

Sundays were different to other days,

We’d dress a little nicer, were told to speak

A little kinder, and we’d gather

In a building made of stone and history.

The old were grateful for the young,

The noise of children a reminder

That time was once without limits,

That coloured glass made stories brighter,

That tradition would be continued.

Or so they hoped.

I was around thirteen when I decided

That I was wiser than it all.

Doubt came with the realisation

That it mattered not whether the door was left open at night,

And thoughts became something to fear.

The sky high pillars, the long white robes,

The book with too many words to ever read

No longer held all the answers.

We went back today.

It wasn’t intended, the sound of a band

Rang out, so we stood at the gates and watched

For a while through the open doors.

Let’s go inside for a minute, why not?

The smell was exactly the same-

Musty, wooden, the smell of age.

Different faces, different daffodils, different walls,

Yet that scent- identical.

And all around they sat, as we did,

All those years ago.

With ears still fresh enough

To believe every word.

Nine Came and Passed

Uneaten sausage and mash.
That was the trigger this time,
That was all it took and then it happens again,
Like lights switched off in a building at night
One empty room at a time;
All except a single bulb that flickers and fights against itself
Thinking over and over sausage and mash,
Cooked just right for once, the potatoes creamy,
Sausages browned and steaming,
Onion gravy made almost perfectly for the first time ever.
I never left the kitchen, a wooden spoon fixed in my hand,
Stirring constantly for fear of leaving the pans alone;
Plated good enough for a restaurant.
But nine came and passed and it went cold, stayed uneaten.
So much emphasis placed on that meal of sausage and mash, and why?
Is this what it’s come down to?
A day later that bulb still flicks on and off, still battles.
Angry, bitter, that it was the only one to care about
That little plate of sausage and mash while the rest of the world
Lives out a life of importance.

The Mess

Night has returned.

The day I missed,

Spent hours with eyes closed,

Limbs wrapped in sheets that never were

To remain fresh for long.

And, still, I want time to pass.

The hum of the freezer lulls the minutes,

A sagging balloon scratches another,

Movement geared from nowhere.

The dishes are stacked,

The pillows askew,

A carpet of crumbs needs cleaning.

Not today.

The remnants of yesterday, the day before,

And the one before that,

Can stay for a while.

Maybe I’ll move on tomorrow.

They Held Hands

They didn’t know.

The world had been blue one minute, the brightest kind,

And everyone else saw it also.

They may as well have been holding hands.

It was humanity at its best.

But the balance was tipped, as it always is, sooner or later, and

Like the oncoming of a dreaded date the link was broken.

The worst thing was it wasn’t through accident, or mistake,

But by a parent? A child, a brother?

Just like that, the blue was uglied to a dirty grey and

Confusion swam alongside fear.

They didn’t know,

They didn’t know why.

Still though, they held hands.

Humble

Humble

The sunset looks pretty today;
Closing golden arms around a landscape hushed by evening,
Running pink fingertips over houses made home
By families, couples, the elderly, by one.
The hum of the washing machine cleans clothes dirtied by living;
Run the iron over creases, hang the shirt for work tomorrow,
Spread butter right to the edges, we might not notice,
But we’ll know.
So many hours spent between our windows of reality.
Outside, above, far away,
The clouds pass by too quickly.

Denial?

Denial?

We all have something, don’t we.
It doesn’t matter how many walls we put up
There’ll always be one that crumbles,
And the strength to piece it back together
Too great.
We’ll tell ourselves, it doesn’t really matter.
The hours of today will wind down
Then tomorrow will be different, if not then,
The next day, the next week, or let’s forget
Altogether.
Life is what you make it.
The pound signs? It’s all show.
Health warnings? We should consider…
But it’s not, we won’t, because it doesn’t matter…
Not really?

So long as I have you and you have me,
The rest will sort itself….

And so we tell ourselves.

Eternal Home

God's eternal nature is contrasted with peoples frailty. Our time on earth is limited and we are to use it wisely, not living for the moment, but with our eternal home in mind. We take a lot of things for granite in life, we live each day without a care for tomorrow. We put our efforts into "stuff", how much "stuff" can we attain and how much "stuff" can we accomplish. We want, want, want for the now, now, now. We just live for the moment. Yes, I am sure that we sometimes think of our eternity and where we will spend it, but do we take the road to make sure that God has a stronghold in our life? There are passions that we have, for some it is facebook, hours of tweeting, sports that we cant get enough of, attaining mass wealth, shopping, what ever our crutch is, we lean on it way to much. Again, we live for the now. We can only take our souls with us when we die, nothing else matters. We need to pray for wisdom so that we may live more wisely, to open our eyes and look upon eternity with a new luster, to desire our eternal home and not on the things of this earth. David said, "create in me a clean heart oh God, and renew a right spirit within me". He was a man after the things of God, let us learn a lesson from David, lets get new priorities, lets seek God and our eternal home.