Ian Stewart Black

Modern master of classical poetry

Month: August, 2020

Screaming In The Wreckage

I’m tired of waking up.
I’m tired of remembering.
Every morning, there’s a moment
When I find myself again,
And I find that I’m alone;
Without your love,
Without your promises –
Screaming in the wreckage.

Our bodies knew that we were home,
With every touch another sign;
Like nothing I have ever known,
Your heart was beckoning to mine.
I saw my soul behind your eyes,
Became devout in your embrace;
A Godless man, I realised
That there is Love – that there is Grace.

I hold you and I understand
That there is meaning in this life;
The moment that you took my hand,
I knew… I can’t fucking breathe without you.
I’m tired of waking up.
I’m tired of remembering.
Now I sleep beside your ghost.
And pray the morning never comes.

Forever Is Over

The memories are tainted now,
Naivety has lost its charm;
Your silence rings with hollow vows:
A stranger nestled in my arms.
Those cherished nights I lay awake
And whispered of our future days;
For vanity’s vampiric sake
You bid me wish my life away.

The horror now becoming clear,
That you were loved and I was used;
You are the monster you had feared:
Abuser born from the abused.
As countless, nameless gone before,
My heart a trophy on your shelf;
I thought that I meant something more –
You only cared about yourself.

My all I would have sacrificed,
And honoured you as royalty;
Did I demand too great a price:
That you would show me loyalty.
The “other half” of me is gone,
Though you were never truly mine;
Your darkness driven by the dawn,
And all that’s good is left behind.