The Edge of the World

It's not every day you find yourself part of someone else's family. So when I found myself in Stirling at the start of this week a full-fledged member of a social group I hadn't seen since St Patrick's, I was somewhat taken aback. It was an incredible experience, and to my new relations north of Edinburgh, a big "'sup?" is more than due.

In other news, it turns out each new heartbreak hurts less than the one that went before, to the point where it barely seems like heartbreak at all. World, bring it on. Things are looking rosier than you like them to.

In that vein, I'd like to continue the theme that has been running through recent posts, and stick some more poetry up. It's hard to know straight away how good they actually are, but time and revision will play a definite role. After all, being 21, time is only on my side. Here goes:

Birthmarks

They tell their own story,

Angry, red-ribboned, fraying,

Black-edged, a more sober

Reminder of nocturnal passions

That grow green and pale

In the cold light of morning

Or the warm breeze of spring;

The bitter solace taken

In the fact you came back.

A Sorrow Burns

A vesperal flare in the reddening night

Curled on the floor, half-naked, we lie

To each other, beautiful half-truths, delight

Daubed freely across the northern sky.

The kinetic meander slides flowingly past,

Leaving us, all fingertips and tales,

Sun-fled and tight-lipped, too fleetingly grasped

To the warm, dull thud, too livid and pale.

And down, as needs must, as rainfall returns

Us to respective lives. Frail memory recedes,

And sentiment directs a crowd-pleasing reprise

Where our parts are played, sensationalised

By our favourite actors, the starring leads

In this picture. Somewhere, unheeded, a sorrow burns.

Achill

I will not reduce your life to pithy verse,

No wailing, no chest-beating, drunk despair,

Nor breathless hyperbole, nor unctious chaff,

Just acceptance, as just as fair.

For nothing truly dies, though all things change,

As wind will alter course, lead the lost astray.

For nothing's truly lost, the destination knows

To come along the way.

I will look now to sea, every coastal bound,

And defy, though every hope be gone;

Take all I need and to hell with the rest,

And with heart in hand, sail on.

Thanks,

Dave.