Monday, 15 September 2008

Fragmented pieces...

Her hand raises to Caresses her chest seeking desperately to calm the dull pain that makes itself known beneath her silk shirt.
"It hurts", she whispers, to no one in particular
Stings like a thousand stab wounds delivered by the one you love, whom you entrusted the fragility of your heart with

Gliding her fingers over it's surface
She can feel it's brokenness
Fragmented pieces constantly moving and breaking off, like frozen icelandic plates
separated pieces caught up in the rivers frozen current, some
lucky ones, swept up in autumn's afternoon's breeze

"How did I arrive back at this junction"? She mused
It's all too familiar, like a child's favourite blanket
The patterns haven't changed their shape,
And its colours? Well, they are still very much the same

The cuts and bruises leave permanent marks.
Marks likened to heart shaped words carved into an oak tree

"Why can't I ever get this right"? She wonders...
"What lessons did I fail to learn that has brought
Me back to
'destination familiar'" ?
She ponders...

I tried with all my might, even put in a good fight
Gave all I had to give, yet got the winners prize called misery!

Taking a deep breath, hoping the air will soothe
the remnants of her broken and bleeding heart

She breathes in hope that the fragmented pieces will float
their way beyond the clouds, towards heaven
and maybe, just maybe each piece will be collected in a golden bowl,
and somehow be put together like brand new,
presented back to her by the author of love,
making her whole and reconciled once again to love

©Remi Banjo, September 2008
***Pictures by Photobucket***

Tuesday, 2 September 2008

Behind the Mask

Behind the mask lays a map of corridors whose walls are heavily decorated with pictures of present and past lives; illusions, fantasies, dreams and notions

Behind the mask, is where she takes permanent residence, her safe haven, where she comes out to play, where she dares to brave

Cool is her exterior, but false her facade
Every movement is propelled by an unnoticed agility,
surrounded by an invisible reality, which collectively
presents a picture; mirage, an illusion, expressing a desired notion

Behind the mask, resides puts to bed raw emotions,
emotions that define
the intricacies of who she is,
the reasons of what she is afraid off, to show or mention

©Remi Banjo, September 2008
***Pictures by Photobucket***

Monday, 1 September 2008

Phone Call

Whilst day dreaming, she is presented with the beauty of his voice. Fingers, they trace the outline of it's smooth, yet rugged surface, giving her subconscious something tangible to embrace.

In her dreams, his love, it plays her, a calming, yet ferocious melody, encouraging her heart to beat in alignment to it's rhythm
She is eager to grasp each note played, scurring to write them down, fearful they might be lost, forever within the realms of her dreams.
The warmth of his love, is subtlety disguised in
the ambiance of the shadows of his tone,
drawing her inwards, desperately calling out for her
to be a part of him, a reflection and extension of him

In her consciousness, she is waiting to be his love,
his one and only, his everything, his all
So, she sits quietly, by the phone
patiently waiting for him to call
©Remi Banjo, September 2008
***Pictures by Photobucket***