Always has a say

Contemplating life, it’s devastating in store

I cannot tell, for I’m not wishing to bore

thinking of a history where hurt shows no bounds

damaged with a heart that is openly found

some say I am at fault, some are correct in thought 

a fragile individual, emotionally caught

on the outside strong yet, do not belong

enough, has been said, it’s time now for bed

to crawl up the stairs, resting a buzzing head

reaction to the words, once or twice said

speak can be bitter, it is a cut like a knife

sticks and stones could take a persons life. 

forging ahead is the only way

depression dredging on, it always has a say

The book

I wrote a book about 10 years ago 

although unlike my life it’ll never end

unlike my life it’ll never be broken

never need to mend

it’ll sit on the shelf next to its friend

never alone with only itself to fend

I wrote a book 10 years ago

it’ll never be fake, decieve my heart

it’ll never be finished although it had a start

never have reason to leave the shelf

what’s the reason to read a book 

without a finish never requiring a second look. 

Winds changing chill

Whisper goes the wind in the wild fields of grey

the bitter Icelandic cold is calling to say

“better get home quick with no delay” 

“It is going to be cold until may”

“the chill is hard, the snow lay thick”

“lucky for you, your house is brick”

In a changing world for boys and girls

drains are clogged with fattened gel

seas destructive plastic waste

pour down sinks your mouldy baste

wipe the smirk right off your face

I’d rather not be here in this place

Ignorance is bliss without a kiss

never forget it could be missed

or bomb the world and wake up pissed

if it’s dark is there nothing to see?

a tree falls in a forest, it’s just a tree

when everyone dies, will Jesus see ? 

You were there

The darkness passes over a static moment

crumbling rock of volcanic liquid  in history 

forgiveness is a difficult duress within a mystery

good for the soul they say perhaps another day

pause, allow oneself to breathe, wipe it off your sleeve

soon I will be dead it’s not something that I dread

it’s an end to the life of carbohydrates and bread

I would have been nothing if it weren’t for you

life changed me, like the taming of a shrew

you were the answer to the life in a stew

pissing it up and losing a shoe

struggling emotionally of mental dread

more times than I remember, I wished to be dead

each day was more hurtful than the day before

I would be nothing if you hadn’t opened the door

cast aside dreadfully for wanting more.

I’ve never been lucky, when counting the score

Suburb

Waking in the darkness of night

the moon shapes the shadows, 

predatory creatures roam the streets of fright

Foxes screams are heard from afar

cubs hunger a cry of wah 

cars rumbling at the concrete road

killing all in their path

creeping along the street that leads into a passage 

waiting is the man with a knife 

fearful from a life of baggage

‘a peaceful little town’ they say 

then not return once they have been away

who is next to be caught in a web

for they cannot go back to living dead

Prayer of restoration

Oh lord hearken thy call

release thee from thine abominable fall

let thy clutching for joy be at the end

thy peace of eternity 

tho’ forward do send

Unquenchable Loneliness

Thy soul in darkness departed from all sense of awareness, disconnected tho’ is considered normality, untouched by reality, feeling a deep sense of unquenchable loneliness. 

A shimmering dagger placed close to thy heart, one small joust of release, reappropriating disordered whirlwind of chaos then peace.

silence as a restoration of thy soul endures a wait to infinity 

gone are expectations of inconsequential ability,

sleep for what appears to be eternity,

never to wake.