Whitehaven Heaven

It was the on bank of the Irish Sea

the tides rolled in

cold & desolate

like the eyes of a begger

with empty palms, forsaken & scalped

a Whitehaven heaven

that danced around my hunger

& led me to the belief

& a feast

that drunk my memories

far from shore.

The rolling hills of acient mountains

bread from an ice age

reincarnations before I was ever concived

& a life

lived from battles fought between armies

prospering land & victory.

The sea washes away the sin

the war of Gods

like a city street fight

bitching about turf

a vast land of martyrs

in the history of blood

that shed it's gallows throughout time

historical & unforgiving.

 

She was still a child

her youth radiated with a silver smile

her ballance, controlled by embarrasing flatory

her future with me was bleak.

I envisioned an English countryside

with sheepdogs in Wales

or a stone cottage in Cumbria.

My Whitehaven morning

my speech like diesel

my throat like an exhaust pipe

pushed to the limits of excess

unlike a North Center Shuffle

where the helpless is hopeless.

She grinned the tin of the young

I almost felt perverted

but it seemed so natrual

this side of the Atlantic.

My heart dropped to my knees

I can't even imagine

what she had thought.