Peter Lilly: Poems

Grapple          here in                    vines where             dampness is                    breath, and                 crystal             futures paint               cold                metaphors onto                leaking           minds. The                constant dull                 drip vacates          to memories       or make             believe,           both elsewhere,     and                 without the                 dynamism       of                                                                 breath.  Written  Jan 2013.... It's better to be breathing, moving, living,  grappling with and growing through the difficult  and uncomfortable things in life than  attempting to exist in the safety shell of memories or pretence and remaining static.

Personified hope
 bleeds a new type of blood
 that changes everything.
 Day whispers the beauty of solar warmth 
to its successor,
 and night learns the depths of starry wisdom from its predecessor, each reminding this self-conscious sphere of the glory of our creator. But every day we slightly mishear, 
each distortion is magnified by years, 
 each childlike age chews at its own flesh in fear 
each, confused by pain searches the skies for answers,
 Because everything has its orbit. 


 Yet The Originator of it all stooped into this cell structure and was born with a guiding proclamation from the sky, he stepped inside matter and was tangible for evermore, he stretched out feeble infant-limbs with all the body's nerve endings to truly feel. The Originator grew in potent purifying grace; so putrid to a distorted universe that his life of self-less giving and shameless truth lead to gratuitous and agonising crucifixion. Th