The Mundane Artist

Long time ago,   When the oceans were of a safe level, When the greenness of the trees overshadowed the concrete of the buildings,  When the air we breathed was, in fact, air we breathed and not a toxic mixture of many,  There lived a trickster who was famous for one of his many tricks.  Lovingly referred to as Mr Trick,  He preferred a name that did a one above, Trick-Master.  He lived under a grassy hill,  Away from most of the population,  But his jovial self could not stay away from the crowd for long;  Because as night fell, His legs did, too; his hands tinkled, for  The result of his daily trick lit a fire in him such that it must, it should, be satiated immediately.  Every evening he would take a walk around the market, People would greet him, scream a warning, “Mr Trick is here!” And hide, they would, but only from his gaze.  His gaze held the power of the trick.  Look at them directly and lo!...

The hour glass is pouring its sand to the other side and   You’re sitting in front of me.  There’s a candle lit and the shadows it makes  On your face, nay,  The way it highlights your face, every inch and corner like someone sat down and painted you whilst you sat  Still  Gazing  Calm  Smiling  I don’t think you can see me  I’m a ghost of a past you left in the past and never tried to bring to the present  Leave the past in the past, they say, but  How could you not even try to bring me to your present bring me to my present because now I lay dead and cold  Fluttering away grey and  Translucent  I see you  I see all of you  But you see through me  I have panic written all over my face  I glance at the hour glass and then at you  I asked for one last chance to look at you  To try and get you to bring me to your present  I wait, anticipating Every twitch...

To die a death in love, who can ever recover after that shove?  You stand and watch it unfold, thinking to yourself, "I'm so bold! Nothing can hurt me now!  I've prepared so well for this, wow!" But the first glance over to your lover, you will finally discover, that your love wasn't enough, it was unneeded,  someone else filled your shoes, they were heeded-- This reality you seem to accept,  then what is this pain in the chest that intercepts?  Soon you realise that someone has stabbed you in your heart, with the sharpest knife from the cart.  That will be the first time you will die, unfortunately, protagonist, there is more to come, sigh!  Can I protect you from the pain?  No, impossible, it'll all be in vain!  I will tell you why this try won't fly.  Once fate has decided that this is to be,  who am I, who are we?  It is a dance & we are spectators,  Love, fate & all, are like dictators!  The second third ...

under my feet the crunch of snow   5 degrees or so  The lights are getting brighter or  My eyes are getting warmer  It was brief  Subtle  Did it even occur?  There is no evidence except  The feeling of warmth in my body while I’m  Surrounded by the coldest of  Nights  In my town  . You were like wine  From the moment you touched my  Lips  And then swished into my mouth  Gulped you down like  I was separating the alcohol One by one  And it settled in my stomach  Like a toxic hug that  Shouldn’t be there  And you stayed  For a night and  Disappeared like we didn’t exist  .  The evidence of your being is little  But the feeling of your existence is significant  I’m back home now sitting in front of  The fire  Trying to finish this  Poem  But I’m so cold