FORGOTTEN
Petals of light
falling from the sun,
burn up in the atmosphere,
their melting heat
spreading across the Earth,
like an eager kiss
given by a forgotten lover
who wishes to no longer
be forgotten.
We close our eyes,
basking in its warmth,
our skin mutating,
turning us into some other
that remembers, somehow,
what that last kiss of heat
will be like, when
everything else is forgotten,
as everything must, eventually,
be forgotten.
THIS PLANT
By pure inaction
I have attempted to kill
this plant on
the kitchen windowsill,
yet it survives,
as so little I haven't cared about has died,
as those things
I did care about
have not survived
either.
A plant originally bought
to brighten a room
I no longer live in,
but one you still do,
my name missing
from your mouth
for several months now,
perhaps your mind too.
STORM
I asked,
a lifetime ago,
for electricity to be flooded
through my brain,
to erase the oil-black dullness
that whispered sluggishly
of blood and wounded skin.
But I was refused,
for reasons I can no longer recall,
and now the dullness
has spread,
and the whispers
have become bone-breaking shouts,
and I stare at the sky
praying for a storm
full of light and roar.
YOU LEFT AND LEFT YOUR LEAVING
If, when my masochist tendencies
get the better of me,
I look now
at those old photographs,
I can see the emptiness
in your smile,
the future deadness
in your eyes, those things
I could not see,
or didn't want to see, maybe,
when I held you
in the reality
of my arms.
You knew what was coming,
knew you would leave me
in such a way
as to never leave me,
the unnecessary need
to look at old photographs,
simply proof
of my refusal to let go
of the past
in me,
that maybe you saw,
that maybe
speeded our journey's end,
your wish for a brighter tomorrow
greater than any other consideration.
TO SING A LIFE
The tongue of the bell
is broken, its peals
painfully silent
as it sways in the wind
driven by the lungs
of the fallen,
their blood turned to ice
in the cold generated
by those who would break
the tongues of bells
and silence the people who
need the sound of its song
to sing their life.
Edward Lee's poetry, short stories, non-fiction and photography have been published in magazines in Ireland, England and America, including The Stinging Fly, Skylight 47, Acumen, Lothlorien Poetry Journal and Poetry Wales.
His poetry collections are Playing Poohsticks On Ha’Penny Bridge, The Madness Of Qwerty, A Foetal Heart, Bones Speaking With Hard Tongues and To Touch The Sky And Never Know The Ground Again.
He also makes musical noise under the names Ayahuasca Collective, Orson Carroll, Lego Figures Fighting, and Pale Blond Boy.
His blog/website can be found at https://edwardmlee.wordpress.com
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