the clay / an crèadh

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what we are is illusion

and all around a construct

of a dream or of a hell, dependent only on whichever end of the microscope

you’re looking through, been granted

access to. capitalists have

no power and yet hold all. full of false delusions, no insights, no light, no infinite—no witchcraft coursing through their hearts.

if indeed—they have a heart,

if indeed—it is possible for the hollow man

to have a soul, in which a heart resides and grows to bloom.

inside

a crumbling pile of dirt

or earth,

the clay —which is too natural the source of

life—for any hollow man. what is the earth when it dies ?

the plant that is deprived of light and life,

restricted in its growth, starved of nourishment and of the sun

and yet unlike the hollow man—it feels.

the earth brings forth and nurtures life, supports.

even the dead moon has a purpose,

comforts us in its light, shining a way out

through the darkness.

©kbain2019.

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priob / flicker

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suicide is an animal,

growling. irrationally snarling

back at you,

on hollow days. agitated,

hungry to

extinguish the pain,

clawing at the surface

soil, looking

for flesh laid bare.

the raw memories you can’t

quite see or hold. the fear

you buried deep,

the coldness of past pain.

the silence that your

soul remembers sleeping,

dreaming inside

a life, before the light

went out.

©kbain19.

bàthadh / drowning

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love has been an unexpected found, lost for me before i dared to open the hands that clenched, trying to contain. bloomed confusion obscured inside the shadowed hurt of childhood. before i unlocked the door to inner self, found you outwith.

love has been the cold reflective, steel blade. understanding, giving. unforgiving. the release of who i am, my path back to you.

the path to emotions shuttered room, where i pray on tired knee. beg to die, beg to live, to come alive. to feel renewal inside, energies light, birthing the summer sun.

the fight, to barter with emotion. life’s metronome unbalanced. the constant flux. the unexpected found, the unsound. the fight within, to understand the eternal source, that drags me down to the drowning pool.

©kbain18.

sgèith / fly

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E s c a p e [myself ]

o u t r u n myself

get o u t of myself

in and out of myself

r u n n i n g through

away and from this[self ]

out fly myself

out-time and space

myself

declassify the

pain filled space

within [myself ]

the cluttered messy

mistake[s] of myself

the mess within

the core of myself

inside

the madness within

the brain

that creates this[self ]

the s o u n d that R o a r s

past

silence inside

the volume within

my[self ]

the voices telling

me what

i need to

do

to [myself ]

the slices of life

I’ve taken in

H a t r e d of [myself ]

all the time

not

e v e r

there for

[my]

self..

I want [so ] much

to l e a v e

myself

while

there is s t i l l

some [self ]

and — f l y — to You.

©kbain2018.

bàsachadh / dying

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my love is a broken door, breaking

you, over & over. until it’s over, and

i don’t want you to go, but i am

glad for you. i push away. there

is ice water filling up the scars holding

me together. submerging emotion.

blunted, pain cuts through obscure ice.

the submerged room i am trapped in,

i can no longer stand, i sink to give.

the pain is endless.

i open the dark box of nothing.

inside thoughts repeat

the voice of self annihilation,

as written on the walls, in the blood

of yesterday & the day after. emptied i sit.

knowing i get back to this, guts me.

i stare at the black void pool. reflection

of all my living fear.

there is no door out of this room. i am

sealed inside my mind. memory ruptures

through sinew. i leak. blooming on,

aching through night born, seeping into

the ice floor shelf, it adds

to the blackness, it will swallow me up.

i am the death mattress whore.

i plunge, submerge.

empty of me, wanting more. your face the last

i see. always, i see you, staring back at me.

mouth open. eyes gaze into

the face of all that is unknown.

you are dead. i am always dying.

our love is decomposing.

©Karen Bain 2017.All Rights Reserved.

fosail / fossil

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sit with me inside the night,   

i am holding the blue black 

of loss. its river of tar & fossil flows   

through me. flooding all senses. submerging  

my footsteps i walk through myself.

darkening isolation’s hollow 

tree. the wolf call

despair, minds wilderness entangled forest. 

I miss who i used to be. sifting 

through the ashes

i will remember, if i find substance

in the ground, buried deep as fossil fuel. i seek

connection, an end to suffering.

i am looking for my way out,

through the pin prick light ahead

of stars already dead. I reach outwith.

let them live within me. i long to find

the measure of my release

merging into the night forever. one

with the stillness of the 

blood moon. darkness reflecting cold steel,

on the river that all roots lead or bend to twist to.

our journey home.

©Copyright Karen Bain 2017.All Rights Reserved.

a ‘caithris / the wake

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This morning, awake i hear your tones, not

as a whisper, nor sunken dreamscape.

solid reality struck a chord, as i reach

out to touch known. expectant in explicit

connection. skin to skin. but you & 

all your rhythmic shapes, so full of energy

are absent. 

from my chamber. loss [rings] 

out. i know this place, the darkness recognises 

me. tomorrow screams and

sounds it’s memory in constant vibration. time

pays no heed to emotion 

lost, tears hit the space between.

objects remind, that you [were.] your watch

sleeps silently ticking in another land, beside

my bed. i touch connective warmth into

it’s face, the face that saw you live to ritual.

there is a stain, on my heart i can’t wash out.

drunk on vinegar, it remains

shadowed by the day after. when the world was

new to me. the first fall of snow, chilled boned

gutted rooms. i buried the daylight with your

leaving. boxed love up. that night i 

burnt summer in the backyard. ashes to ash,

& fed the weeds with love. all trace of us gone,

i wait for your return. i know time will

[wake.] recognising me in your face, 

sensing movement, inclined gravitation 

offsetting the [un]balanced, times hands will

[move]me on.

©Copyright Karen Bain 2017.All Rights Reserved.