Peter Lilly: Poems

Name your poison, divulge your idol, declare the need to have a vice; an obtuse excuse of shameless incoherence. From inside our transparent bubble-shells we look at each other as pearls, not out of appreciation but envy. We let our lives dissolve into nothing in the ‘if’ and ‘when’ of happiness, and the discontents of empty clutter. The mind’s lust for blood is betrayed by violence in your eyes, but the sting of vengeance will scar the smile of your soul as it tears away from flesh. Lies protect us from getting burnt when you make a fire your home, but they will eventually melt and fuse into your skin. It is better to feel the burn and move than conceal the truth in pride. Honesty is more pure than claiming faultlessness. Isolation severs external vessels from their purpose. Independence lies about itself saying that it holds the key to freedom. What can you do with this touch but take? It’s the paradox of the sensual; continuous reaping renders ...

As deep as thi s knife cleaves a canyon in my chest, As clear as my ribs protect m y lungs, As futile their structure to withstand this force, Sickness infiltrates the body any which way it can. The symptoms portray the rotten core Of my physical being; Doubled over in agony And gasping for clean air. My mind is marinated in the pain of living, How can a soul breathe amidst The taunts of the healthy and wealthy? The corrupt successes who would Sell a thousand families for a two-door fridge. Has my service incurred wrath? Does my secret wretchedness stain The good I try to display? I know I deserve this toil but surely They deserve to serve the contagious with smiles. But, As deep as this knife Cuts a canyon in my chest, As pure as I am defiled, As wide as this sickness spreads, and still wider, And as honest, more honest than my pride wont let me be, Is your compassion for the bleeding. For you desire to know me And for ...

Grey expectations on A morning such as this Your children are all chasing dreams With their teeth and their fists. ‘oh that’ll come to no good’, You say from over there Up on your pedestal Behind your desk, on your cushioned chair. But they’ll taste fortune in freedom You cannot know Because all your trinkets in their eyes Are temporary like the snow Jumping through windows and Braving starvation Because it is better than this poison That kills with comfortable sedation ‘oh they’re out of control And they’re out on their own,’ But it’s too little too late To bring them back home Out there they’ll taste fortune In yellow streetlight glow Because your concerns spoken quietly, Not loud enough for them to know, At least they know their need, Can you point to your lack? At least they know their need, That's the humility of lost children. Written Jan 2011