Muse

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There is a place beyond home

Beyond the valleys

Beyond the pines

Beyond the rushing streams of rivers and seas

Beyond, the cloud filled skies.

There is a place that haunts my memories

Rips me from reality

With daydreams of where I should be

A simple place.

Yet as simple as it may be

There was perfection in its beauty

Exceeding expectations 

Belittling my wildest imagination

Curbing my enthusiasm

Yet teased my appetition

I reminisce

Of my many chances at repetition

Of my many offers

To be there

To stay there

Prospects I squandered callously

Unaware of this regret I’d faced eventually

Oh if only the hands of time

Should somehow permit

Allowing my then to become my now

I promise these choices would not recommit.

Or somehow I could defy the test of time

Go back to the beginning when this place was mine

Prove for my sake it doesn’t exist

And remain forever at this place I long to revisit

Yet as I lay here

These memories dare not cease

I think of that place

I long for its peace

This place my senses know to be true

This place I long for is right beside you.

Olsfred James 2013©

 

 

Retribution

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 Black stallion straddling

Complexion to match

He rode into the country

Only a gun and the clothes on his back

Eyes glaring as the town’s people stared

But a gaze from this stranger

Negated any contest they dared.

A question to the shoe maker

He signaled to the saloon

Head straight; eyes fixed

As he steadily rode on

Undertaker opens shop

Preparing for the coming graves

Preacher man clasps his bible

Begins to say his prayers

Reaching his destination

He leaves his horse untied

Made his way through the doors

Seemingly hurt, his limp implied.

The unknown figure enters

Casting a robust shadow of gloom

The bandsmen in turn stop playing

Sensing tension in the room

Without warning or reason a shot fires

Through the eye of a man at the poker table’s chair

Patrons scatter; Women screamed

As the stranger gives chase to another up the stair

Caught between the corridor

He is tossed through the window

Impaled by the shattered glass

And the wooden gateway below.

While the stranger exits

Straddling off into the sunset from whence he came

Impervious by his actions

Retribution was his name.

Olsfred James 2013©

 

Obsession

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Desire…

Is it good enough?

….Lights

Silence takes the room hostage

We watched her...

Thick hips

Pink lips

Walking through the hallway.

No smoking allowed

But the haze filled the room

Added to the mystery.

Dancing at her podium

She smiles

She teases

Looking in my direction always

Strobe lights flicker

Imitating my heartbeat

Watching on, at the contortion of her frame

Play, Rewind, Play, Rewind

But never does she stop

Each scene in slow motion

As the curves of her body

Tugs on her dress

Yelling…“Please come save me from myself”

….Seclusion

Pretty little thing

She made me fall in love with her

Made me imagine my fingers seducing her

As she pressed her body against me

She knows I want her

She smiles

She teases

Her fingers followed the vines of her tattooed rose

All the way to the brushless roots

Fiddling at the moisten leaves

Wasn’t this her way of flirtation?

Wasn’t this her subtle invitation?

I enjoyed our conversation

Her body spoke

I listened.

….The agreement.

Yet unconcerned with fighting my temptation

And the rules within the arrangement

I tasted her

Sunk myself deep within her

Forced my weight to restrain her

Repeatedly confession my love for her…

The taste of her sweat stained my memory

The aroma of her perfumed made my senses crazy

Why couldn’t she want me too?

Why couldn’t she see I loved her?

Everything about her

The shade of her lips stick stained my collar

A blemish I would welcome any day

But not today

I didn’t mean to hurt her…

I only wanted her to stop screaming…

I swear I didn’t mean to squeeze her so tightly

I never meant to kill her…

I never meant too.

Desire…

Is it good enough?

Olsfred James 2013©

Something

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There is something

Pacing the floors

The boards creek

The hinges rattle

And there is screeching

From closed doors.

There is something

Standing in the corner

Growing increasingly impatient

Watching and waiting

Focused in your direction

The empty eyes of another.

There is something

In the shadows

Where it came from

No one knows

On your way home

I think it followed.

There is something

Beneath your bed

Inhaling your exhalation

Intoxicated by your fear

Straggly curling fingers

Bushing along your hair.

Something I earlier

Could have shared

It waits till midnight

To claim what is his

You could kill it

But it’s already dead.

Olsfred James 2013©