Bjorn Visser Poems

I silently gasp as the paper flutters to the floor
Is this a signal of the end?
the last pictures, our last hour?
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He pushed her up, against the wall
He tore her dress, he ripped her soul
She felt his power
He sensed her fear
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Lost, has the echo’s become my friends?
Alone, never. He is always there.
Staring, never blinking, breathing down my neck.
I scream as the pain claws through my heart.
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Once again he visits
We share a cup of tea
We talk about the blood he’s shed, before he drains me.
We chat about the small things
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Staring from the window, lives pass me by
a woman cries hysterically, her marriage a lie.
a man walks swiftly, a wallet in his hand
a girl alone on the corner, wearing nothing but her broken dignity and torn down heart
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Gunpowder clouds cover the sky of the innocent.
A death no longer a loss
A tombstone becomes a rare expense.
No space wasted, a soul gone another already waiting.
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The night time comes.
its ever-glowing darkness covers the tears on my cheeks.
the bustling of passers by. un-aware of my fate smile and talk as they slip over the black paved river.
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Puppet to the Universe

You?
who are you?
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Tea Time

As I go to bed
Just before I sleep
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Tick’ Tock the clock strikes twelve
a nightingale sings.
A treacherous heart releases painful gasps
a gluttonous hand grabs everything.
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