I wondered where those roads, in which the world diverged,
became the promises of another life,
the hilly embankment that touched the horizon in
tranquil virescent spikes, splattered with hazel lines,
that conquered truth and candour.
I apologised a thousand times, but it didn’t mean flames
grew out from Sol’s heart in any other way
than a bright heat,
embellishing the only sphere we knew,
calling upon the ancientness of mother
to sprinkle life into the heavens.

Ten thousand times more and could I be
applauded as a prophet?

I wonder what it would be, to be
in your bed, to be
in your eyes and ears
and under your skin with every
pounding beat of self.
A tribal renewal of all the beaten paths
we forged through jungle, and
higher grassy plains, away
from the light of stranger tides,
to lamented reason and borrowed time.

Did you ever know these words
were written for you? Locked away
in my head to brood,
and brooding becomes a way
to unlock the tryst we find
on empty winding roads we’ll never walk
But I will always know there was
a hidden pulse between the souls,
of unrequited lovers on those
empty divergent roads.

    Poem © Phen Weston, 2016.


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