my grief

The sound of violence rang loud.
In its wake, dead silence,
Broken only by sobs and soft condolence,
Joyful homes broken by menace,
Neighbourly love scattered by vengence,
Shuttered is the world we knew.

Sour are the sights, beauty torn away,
The stench of death thick in the air,
Nausea and nostalgia flood the heart,
Deep are the wounds we cut,
Smoke smoulders from homes burnt,
The fog dulls the future,
I wonder if we are too late,
To mend mistakes of mean haste.

 ©davyvivaldi 2012

PERHAPS

I wrote you a ballad
And hoped you'd read it
Wondering what you'd think of it

I wrote you a symphony
And hoped you'd sing it
As I wondered if you'd like it

I sang you a song
and hoped you'd listen to it
as I wondered if you'd enjoy it

I thought of you every night
And prayed you'd be safe
But wondered if you did the same
For me at least

I wanted to say the words
But couldn't mouth them
Because my heart skipped a beat
And my courage was eclipsed

Perhaps I was afraid
Afraid I would succeed
Or afraid I would fail,
Just perhaps

©davyvivaldi 2012

THE OBSERVER

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I was taught how to study this tough life,

To know when to walk, and learn when to run,

To whet blunt edges sharper than a knife

To identify times to shout or to talk

To choose my words well, lest they cause me hell

To keep my thoughts silent, and never mock.

 I learnt to read into humanity

Their motivation and vanity

And hoped my path would gain some clarity

The bitter- sweet balance of grief and joy

Their worries and their insecurities

The innocence and guilt that paints their souls

Their oscillation between good and bad

The bright smiles and dull frowns that make them whole.

©davyvivaldi 2012

season of despair

Knocking on heavens door

With an angel on my shoulder

And the devil on my back

Death stalked my heels

Erasing all I could feel

Hope held my hands

Leading me on when I was lost

Fear griped my heart

As dread danced in my belly

Anxiety washed over me

Exhaustion was heavy on my legs

As I tugged away from desperation,

Confusion set tent in my head

For I longed for a soft bed

But my journey allowed me no rest.

Perhaps purgatory was best

My battered body begged

This tormented soul had aged

A solution that would leave none enraged

On this relief was pegged.
 

©davyvivaldi