The Love and Soul of Antimatter – Five Poems


Poem One 


                                                                                What’s so cool about…  


Antimatter, the hub of creation,  

Pathway to my salvation. 

They asked me to retrieve, 

Ordered me to believe 

The rising entropy of our world, 

The everlasting lies they hurled 

In the face of my son  

Whose world is undone. 


Antimatter is not the evil power they shot, 

A virus in our souls, a bot. 

How hard he is to find,  

How easily he makes us blind. 

In the warmth of the setting sun,  

I ask you to run, not from the great man’s gun,  

But from the lies the great man said, 

The fear with which you’re fed. 


Search for those lies, 

Behind the cerulean glow of crystal skies. 

Unravel mystery,  

Unleash history, 

Antimatter is for real.  

Use him well, he makes you feel. 


                                                                             … having dinner with antimatter? 

Sitting opposite antimatter, my poem loses rhyme.  

Is that a crime? 


Looking at him, I gaze into a mirror. 

There is no reflection of my face.  

We are so different, he and I, 

But we are also mirror images. 

We have, dare I say, the same difference. 

We run away from shadows of who we were, 

In a futile attempt not to be who we are. 


We have a hidden past, 

A future we cannot see. 

Both are no different to the present, 

But only the present is visible  

Before it disappears into the future. 

I am matter, and he is not. 


Separated by a candle light, glass, and liquid silver, 

All matters, does it not? 

United similitudes, contra to fleeting dreams, 

We toast infinite love and speak of the future.  

In the end, he and I are so alike. 

Or are we? 

Appearances can be deceptive.  


Identical snowflakes may not be all they seem,  

Colours and forms enchant and deceive the infant. 

I gaze into his eyes and see beyond the heavens; 

The crystal horizon of his soul 

Deprives me of time and space. 

I am lost in regrets of unfulfilled dreams.  


Who will he be, and who was I? 

Am I matter, and is he anti? 

I am no longer me, and not yet him. 

But he and I both know we are reticent to change. 

Change is surely anti-me, and certainly not him. 




Poem Two 


                                                                     Revolution of the anti’s  

You hide behind the barricades of a revolution,  

You clutch at the straws of evolution. 

I hear you cry from a distance,  

I see your tears; I admire their brilliance; 

And as the sheep divide the crowd,  

Your consciousness travels towards the anthracite cloud. 


Your motionless body lies on the bitumen, 

A path of lost stars shrouded by drunken men. 

Your soul is lost in the greyness of the low-countries,  

And travels well beyond man-made boundaries. 


Caught in the delicate wings of windmills, 

I hear its trills. 

The notes I heard,  

The piercing tones of a caged bird, 

Remind me of how enclosed we are,  

Close to liberty but far from freedom. 


Loneliness travels to an unknown city,  

Leaving a trail of anonymity, 

Impurity, insanity, 

Just anti. 

Such is the power antimatter holds,  

Even the strongest desire unfolds, 

To crash in the blue mountains of destiny,  

And reach a peak so close to infinity. 




 Poem Three 


                                                                                 The natural habitat of a particle… 



As she lingers in our streets below, 

“R” less than “ONE,” more than “ZERO,” 

I hear her cry out loud, 

“I remain your darkest cloud.” 

She did not ask to find Man, 

But was disturbed in Wuhan. 

The delicate balance of nature 

Ripped to threaten our future. 

“Do what?” I hear you ask, 

Your lips hide behind that mask. 


“Respect the particle,” I say, “and she’ll respect you.  

All is not free, and much will be due. 

Our children will pay the price, 

Not once, not twice, but thrice.” 

But I hear a discordant voice, 

You and others rejoice, 

Is lockdown a thing of the past?  

Has the particle been vanquished, at last? 

“No,” she says. “I am still a cloud, 

And can descend into the crowd. 


Beware of those who do not distance, 

I will always have a second chance.” 

The particle does not live with you, 

You live with her, through and through. 



                                                                                    …Was destroyed by man’s fire. 


You stopped and gazed, 

Unable to reach your home, 

As the smoke impaired your vision, 

Of what might have been, 

In the hope that it was not you, 

But someone else. 

As the rescuers confirmed your greatest fears, 

You capsized into a torrent of despair, 

Not knowing where to turn, 

Not knowing how to cry. 


The furnace rocked your soul, 

Destroyed your body, 

And in the everlasting heat, 

You had but one thought, 

Not to lose what had been so hard to win. 

Was she there, the particle of life, was she not? 

Did you feel the hot doll 

Caressing the palms of your hands? 

Did you see a lock of hair 

Traverse the incandescent stairs? 


She reached for you, the antimatter, 

The devil’s advocate 

Rising from the flames to set you free. 

Visions come and visions go, so real, so true. 

If you find their meaning, they too, will set you free. 

I, the antimatter, have found you between the flames, 

Your charcoaled face, a cry of agony. 


Let me take you under my wings of time, 

Into the arms of pure matter, 

Let me force upon you a vision of the nude elements. 

Past, present and future, 

Of what you thought was lost, 

What you hoped to gain, 

And what awaits you. 

I am the antimatter; 

The antithesis of your dreams; 

I come with your nightmares 

As you walk through the marketplace. 


Come, dear Sire, come, follow me, 

Fear not your hallucinations. 

Is she there, is she not? 

I will play with you, 

But your present suffering 

Is the sign of a better future. 

Trust me. 


A scorched body, a burned soul, 

The light of hope, 

The darkness of despair. 

I am here for you, 

And cast the comfort of time 

On your tired body. 


Although you do not yet know 

What my purpose is, 

Do not lose the visions of the antimatter, 

Or they will lose you. 




Poem Four 


 Much to learn but so little time 



The ticking clock, 

Time matters, 

And antimatters, 

I hear a wedding bell, 

I who fell 

Into the arms of love, 

A homing pigeon, a white dove. 


Matter swept away by a sea of anti-gold, 

A tale so many times told 

To a weeping girl. 

Like the oyster’s pearl, 

So difficult to find, 

Matter makes us almost blind. 


The everlasting emotion  

Of honour and devotion, 

You and me, side by side,  

And by your wish I abide. 

They call it love  

In the sky above. 


The secret I unlock, 

The ticking of a clock, 

Eternal time we share,  

You and I, there, 

In a picture on a wall  

To be shared by all. 

This is my picture, 

This is my future. 


Come with me here  

And you will hear 

The antimatter chime, 

Your partner in crime, 

Under the ticking clock, 





Poem Five 


 The big question – the importance of being in love. 

 Love is gained, a gift from you to me, and me to you, 

I saw you cross the brittle snow, 

I helped you bridge the crystal lake. 

And as you approached me from the Andean peak, 

To sweep me from a never-ending ocean, 

Like a message in a bottle, 

Like a treasure upon a ship, 

A golden nugget once belonging to the Incas, 

You let me seize my fortune and reap my happiness. 

How lucky I am to cross your path, 

How thrilled I am that you cross mine. 


And somewhere in the middle, 

The inexplicable entanglements of love 

Deploy their everlasting hold 

Upon two souls destined for a journey; 

A journey that will outlive them. 


                                                         Love can be lost and there’s nothing you can do, 

Lost girl of Syria, 

Your heart shines like a diamond, 

Casting its spell in the desert storm, 

Shedding its tears over the trodden sand dunes, 

You asked for nothing and obtained less. 


Your love shines through a darkened skin, 

Your soul, entrapped in troubled times, 

Not knowing whether to escape or stay, 

Searches desperately for a companion, for a reason, 

You asked for nothing and obtained less. 


And when the ferocious soldiers flee the desert, 

When the cries of war drown the songs of birds no more, 

You are left alone, standing against a wall 

That separates you from happiness, 

Cuts you off from love. 

Lost girl of Syria, 

You asked for nothing and obtained less. 


                                                                             Love is fragile and may not last, 


You look into the future, frightened by the past, 

A fragile chrysalis, a butterfly that will not last, 

And yet you are stronger than the strongest girl, 

More beautiful than the largest pearl. 


Upon my shoulder, you search my soul, 

You fill me with fear I cannot control, 

And as you travel across the seven seas, 

Your wings carried away by the crystal breeze, 

I will wait, for you will come back to me, 

And rest on the purple lilac tree. 


You are my soul, you are my light, 

A vision of an enchanted flight, 

Purity has a name, passion has a cry, 

The purity of colour, the passion of a butterfly. 


                                                                             Love can be as strong as a golden cast, 


I look into your eyes, 

They tell me what is wrong, 

So many things to cry about, 

So many reasons to be sad. 


But here for you, my child, 

I am a moving image of paternity, 

To help you in your deepest needs, 

I will be there as a solid rock. 


And if ever we should part, 

Like two moons going separate ways, 

The gate will not close, 

The door will not lock. 


Do not feel lonely, 

Do not feel helpless, 

I am here for you, 

You can come to me. 


A touch is enough, 

A look is sufficient, 

Just come to me, 

I am cast of gold, 

And am here for you.