Old

Bones click into place as you stand,
Tracing the wrinkles and lines with my hand.
Legs are heavy, footsteps small,
Speech a withered, tiresome drawl.

But through your eyes grey and creased,
I see a life lived underneath.
With tears and laughter mixed behind,
Life and memories, soul and mind.

Mr. Winter

Snowflake,
Open your arms and dance, dance
Until you let yourself fall
To the ground, surrendered
To the laws of gravity.

Little drop of rain,
Come to me, slowly, slowly
Fall into me, kill my thirst,
Turn to ice from the weeping sky,
Fall into my eyes,

Pretend it was me who cried.
Pretend it is me that rains.

Excuse me if the air I exhale
Turns into a deadly whisper.
If those sweet words I mean to say
Are nothing but thunder.

Once, I wasn’t like this.
Once, I was all peace, bliss
And good intentions.

Samurai - The Art of War

A samurai walks a pebbled road. Grass whistles at him, as he graces a deserted village. Tentatively he approaches the temple at which he should meet his master. The hairs on his neck rise as he slides his hand down towards his sword. Alone, he feels watched. He slips his shoes from his feet, to allow him to see without looking down. He glides towards the door of the temple. He stops. His feet are warm. Looking down he knows without seeing. A body was there. He tightens the grip on his sword, for he is not alone.

A Year

Think of all the things that can happen in a year. 365 days. Think of all the laughter and the tears and the smiles that can fill these weeks. Life is too short, they say, whoever they are. When we're young we want to be old, when we're old we want to be young. No one is ever satisfied with where they are in life. But me, I'm satisfied. I can look ahead and I can look behind and be alright with where I am.
It's been a wonderful year.

Sounds of Progress

A yawn, a sigh, a pause.
A tap, a tick, a tap.
A yawn, a sigh, a pause.
A stretch, a sniff, a crack.
A tap, a tap, a tap.
A yawn, a tap, tap-a, tap.

The day I was born

I would like to remember the day I was born. The freckled lady who held me as Michel Preud’Homme back in the good old inglorious days. Was it cloudy? Was it rainy? Probably, given the fact we’re talking of Salford, Greater Manchester. I would like to recall the whiteness of those sheets, the greatness of my mother’s tears, the fear in my heart. Or the hope. Not all of us have the luck of being born in a place called “Hope Hospital”. Only the ones who come from that part of the world…

The King of the Monsters – The Battle

A graveyard made of office blocks, a city battlefield. In the blood stained centre of the city stand two-behemoth monsters, Godzilla and King Kong. The battle starts. Fists, tail, rubble, everything is a weapon. They grapple and roll, falling to the ground. They eventually go down; hurt, wounded they stumble to their feet, before falling to the ground again. Broken. A helicopter approaches the grounded monsters. Target locked, missiles launched. A cloud of death fills the sky. Smoke floats in the air for what seems like hours, until it finally clears and shows the one true king of the monsters.