Peter Lilly: Poems

The Future is shadows That have stepped out from the walls And climbed out of the ground. You can walk through them, cannot see past them. A sentimental goodbye soon ages Maturing into a nostalgic memory. The past is magnificent architecture That melts into two dimensions; Collected, collecting dust. You can see them any time, cannot enter them, ever. This will never happen again, Its all a two day old nostalgic memory. The future is the corporeal shadows Cast by buildings of the past, pictures of buildings. Written July 28th 2010, 2 days after Graduating from London School of Theology. Possibly yet to be finished... not sure at the moment.

Like makeup on a corpse’s cheek Her eyes give the appearance of warmth. Touch the floor beneath her pillow, The weight of dreamless sleep Has imprinted a crop-circle on the carpet. It’s when she blinks she is exposed. Light pierces opaque skin And organs cast shadows. Denial synchronises eyelids And dead skin powders your desk. Draw a calendar in the dust And count down daily vomit, And the lingering smell. Complacency clings to the walls, And the lingering smell. She will kiss you but She will not let you look at her. She will the say the vows but She will not say your name. Doubtful whispers echo softly. There is a voice in the wind That comes from her lungs into yours. Says nothing but greetings; Depth is spread shallow like butter, Dead weight your shoe. Stay still or walk bare foot, Soul to the ground to a halt. This is biased indecision when you know that Waiting is giving up. Move? Move? Move? Written early June 2010. Some music my brother ma

Heavy weights on numb limbs; This sleep is to my head. Crying out to distant blisters Which wish they knew the meaning. Try to spell it out, It’s simple for some. Now lie down and rest in paradise, On a bed of broken glass. Ash trays full of smoking ban Still sit on every table. Only if they knew the time of day They would all be gone. You hated every moment distributing life to the lonely, Easing out of the womb With dishonest motivation. And this is the world you’re born into, Where only night feels like home. Stain the blue sky black So you no longer have to squint. Only in complete darkness Are there no shadows. Written, early June 2010.

Drowning in oxygen, Face to face with time. Tomorrow hides behind a glass clock; A reflected image of future. Whispers drift towards daybreak Where they will all be Bleached clean by the sun. Nobody wants to listen to whispers. Lingering eyes are obvious And oblivious to difference. Comparisons draw blood from Flesh disguised as granite. A stone haemorrhage Dampens illusions of tessellation, Shapes become swollen and puffed up; Proud pieces make a crooked puzzle. You need oxygen to Breath in these whispers, And blood to collect them But where do I fit in with this heart and lung? Sitting on the stone, Blending in. Written May 2010