Ben Littlechild

You see me on the street
A man so plain you will never meet
He that seems so quiet and reserved.
Yet love never found him, love that he deserved.
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Your beauty is like a summer rain
And a breath of fresh air you bring to my sight.
Bringing life to those that have withered and refrained.
And an image so haunting it stays in my mind throughout the night.
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She lives so far away,
On a shore where a different ocean sprays
An island so different from this land
Yet more enticing for me to leave and make a stand
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Love is like a delicate flower.
But no water is needed for its existence.
Only gentle words to feed its roots,
and passion to help it grow.
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Through dark streets I ride
where cones of amber intersect the dark
In the distance dogs bark
And in gardens hedgehogs hide
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Love left me in an email
The noise of new mail ringing like a bell
Its from her, I see the name I know so well
Is it a invite to chat or a jpeg to see
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When the day is ended and done
I come home to loved one.
She who is friend and wife,
She who would defend me with her life.
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I gaze upon your face,
Its lines and emotions I trace
My heart beats rapidly like running a race.
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How will I be remembered?
From January to December
Memory of me like a photograph fades
The light of my life lived turns to shade
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Let me tell you of years gone by
Eternal summers playing under bright blue skies
To cold winters with men with charcoal for eyes.
From the first day I walked adventures ensued
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Dressed in scarlet, she outshines the evening sun.
Her charm more giddying than the drink infront of me.
Her eyes more beautiful than the stars as we walk home.
The kiss as we part, full of more heat than the dying embers of the fireplace.
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He sleeps now our poetic prince
His halls are silent, his voice no longer reaches our ears.
Yet in these rooms, I feel his heart, his dreams, his soul
his tragic story, on the walls unfolds.
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I am the land,
I am the dust in the air, the warmth on the wind
I am the raindropp in free fall,
the splash upon the ground.
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Still the river flows
From the days of Byron and Chaucer
She moves, like silk upon silk,
she slips gently by
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I saw a crow amongst the dead,
Brazen in his mood, upon their heads.
Picking at the ground feeding upon the worms.
Worms that have fed on the brave.
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Marble warriors stand tall and straight
on parade for eternity, all saluting the flag of a far off land.
Ghosts of wars past, a reminder of sacrifices made.
At the hall, a ghostly dance on Boxing Day
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You are a butterfly on my hearts flower
With every beat of your wings, I feel my petals dance, you move me with every pulse.
Your beauty enthrals me, the grace of you fixes my stare.
Of my heart you drink, and my heart is open to you.
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I remember that afternoon in Roma,
We shared a perfect moment in the city of antiquity.
In the darkened room, our touch was gentle.
Our kisses feverish in their desire.
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I lie alone in a crowded bed
Drowning in a thunderous silence.
The world is free, while consciousness is my prison
Sleep is a far off shore, which I am becalmed to sail to.
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On and on they go,
Stretching out in every way
Veins of the hospital beast
In them travels all kinds of faces
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