The wound will scar
her distress is deep
she keeps picking at the scab
it will never heal
It reminds her she's alive
and she wants to see it bleed

Only the contours will mend
become smooth to touch
they tell her grieving takes time
but it's all too much
time is only an illusion
almost fooling her at times
she keeps picking at the scab
telling everyone she's fine.

LH 2015

Scars are there to remind us
not to fall again
but often we do
each time a little harder than before.

LH 2015

I spoke your name aloud
For the first time
It clung to the air
Like a frightened child
Then vanished from my arid eyes

My grief silently weeping
The loss a stagnate scream
I wish I could take it back
And the breath I took to say it
Inhale it back into my lungs

It lay so long burning like coal
A glowing ember in the dark core
Of a beasts belly
Then it slowly slid into my throat
A blistering cinder
An agonizing ache

When my lips parted
Only ashes remained
And the taste of loneliness

LH.

What wood I be...

I am wooden
hollowed out
decaying
dull
brown
full of knots
a shelf
carrying a heavy load
a fence
to keep people out
feeling every swing
of the blade-
an axe cutting deep
into the heart of me

some days however
I am a desk to write
a love poem on
a door to lean against
a kissing gate
or rocking chair
a boat to sail away on
lit by the winter moon
a tree with lovers
names etched forever.

2013 © LH

With bated breath

I am waiting for the snow,
surveying every forecast
for subtle snowflakes
amidst the freezing rain
and zero temperatures

I have fished out
my woollen gloves,
stowed away much like
the memories they hold,
your hands-warming mine

I carefully unfold each piece
of winter wear,
each layer I pull on,
Is one you lovingly removed

I am ready for the snow,
and I know,
I will recognise your footprints
at my door

In the brisk night air,
I watched the moths shimmer
beneath the street lights,
I saw my breath hang in the air
as I whispered your name

And I thought I saw a
fleck of snow, but no......

2013 © LH

Lying silent in the night,
I lift the veil that shrouds my eyes,
and gaze upon the soulful sky.

2013 © LH

Pieces

You were my master, teacher
and keeper of secrets
I will always be broken
I don't want to be fixed
I chose you
I liked how we fit
I gave you pieces
of me no one else knew
I couldn't give you it all
I didn't want to...
There were things that I've kept
to myself, held close,
I don't want to forget
It's too hard to let go
so I won't
I will always hold on
to .....hope.

2013 © LH

How to persevere...

Hold your head high,
support with something white,
feathery, your head will feel lighter,
woolly, almost floaty.

Resist cradling your knees,
as an infant,
keep your chin up,
try a crutch-

Jack or Gin,
may help keep a stiff upper lip,
for a while,
you always wake though

and the air's been sucked out
of your eyes, your head is filled
with rocks, it's hard to hold your head high,
keep your chin up,
when you keep falling over.

2012 © LH

The Hypnotist

Rocked shut,
my harboured dead-eye,
yawns and stretches,
then resists,
I sorely slaved
to pare and carve
the wretched ache,
to make it fit.

You stitch my eyelids
shut, with numbers
and guide me back
into the womb
black lipped, you
prise me like an oyster
and eagerly excavate
my tomb.

2012 © LH

In the eye of the storm

Toes curled under,
those inconsiderate claws,
on tenderhooks,
careful not to fall

O how the ripples seduce me,
royally beckoning,
I dip my toes and so
I succum to the enemy 

Defeat is swift,
It moves through my veins,
rapid rivers, snaking
Into a polluted estuary

I used to have a fear of drowning
when it happens
you inhale lungfuls of tears,
cried by scores of injured egos,

You gasp for air
and lie down in the silt.
I watched you float towards the surface
as I sunk

My words simmered
then they were cast away
now my song is a weak whisper
In a passing cloud,

It is a jet stream meandering east
far far above our heads.
Memories come in the wake,
lapping at my unconscious mind,
Repeatedly.

As I slipped into the water
my eyes were leaking,
and a bell was unrung...

It's only when I reached the bottom
that I could clearly see ;
you are only a dead fish floating
on the top,

A dull flat note,
a black oil slick.
The seagulls will pick through
your anemic bones.

2012 © LH