Fear

As I hold this in my hand,
It begins to shake and tremble,
I want to write this down,
On the paper on the table,

But I cannot bring myself,
To say how much I love you,
In fear of what you'll say,
Now I don't know what to do.

At last I place it down,
And walk from my confession,
That I'll never write it now,
For it's too private an expression.




Detail

I look around
This place I am
And take in every single
Little thing and tiny sight
Every little detail.
But I find I do miss things
That are large and overbearing
And that means that all I find
Is the thing I seek is missing.




Ingrained

What am I to do,
On what law should I fall,
Am I supposed to respond,
Or am I just a fool.
Now it becomes clear,
Exactly what's expected,
Because of someone else,
Who realised I'm pathetic,
And willing to follow someone else,
Who's told me all the rules.
Now he must be laughing hard,
Because we are all fools.




Inanimate

I am cursed to stand forever,
Watching human life.
As the vandals come and go,
The lover with his wife.
Always standing but never moving,
A rock in times of strife.




Growth

Where have I come from,
What have I done,
Have I achieved much,
Or am I still dumb.
I begin to realise,
Just what was meant,
By people saying,
"Never relent,
Don't ever give in,
Or let up and fade"
But that's what I did,
Now my life's all grey.
I should have grown up,
When I had the chance,
But now I am old,
And all that is past.
I will never expand
Into new expertise,
Because I always refused,
To do as I pleased.
But to do what they wanted,
And now they have won.
Now it's all over,
My life is done.




Fantasies

Looking out over this land,
Upon a tree stump wide,
Watching his men appear from the mist,
By his laws must they abide.

Standing on the balcony,
Aloof, proud and regal,
The boy looks up into the tree,
And sees naught but an eagle.

The child's imagination runs wild again,
And above him his protector,
Yet the bird does not comprehend,
And watches for that tremor.

Of leaves upon the forest floor,
That signifies a creature,
For the roles reverse at last,
The eagle is the master.




Happiness

Lying on the table,
It looks so cold,
Shall I put it to my head,
And so be bold.
Pull the trigger,
Hope for sanction,
Blood upon the walls,
Within my mansion.
Money and hate,
Or all to be sold,
My hand reaches out,
And I take hold.




It might never happen

Look up to the stars,
Watch as the sky closes in,
Living in a box,
Seen as the greatest sin.

It's getting hard to tell where,
What I am ends and what they're making me,
begins.




Confusions familiar

The word perfect ain't quite right,
So why don't you take a look around,
You pay for it the rest of your life,
Foot steps of stone placed down.

Found dead as nails at their homes,
It's another way for me to say,
Blisters on your feet, blisters on your bones,
I'd rather us live in the present day.




The grim visage of war

The field, plastered with bodies,
Bodies in the grass,
All those poor young soldiers,
Freed from hate at last.

In the centre of the rage,
Peace and still are found,
But outside this tranquil place,
Noise and smoke surround.

But the war is over now,
Finished, the end,
And we must not forget,
Those young men, Dead.




Music

It fills the air and surrounds the city,
Haunting yet strangely familiar,
Always present yet never solid,
Changing with the passing ages,
All people listen but few hear,
As it continues through time immortal,
Evolving, Breeding, Creating, Feeding,
From the people as they listen yet never seeing,
What is really there.




The spider's web

Glistening in the morning dew,
Thin, fragile, strong, supple,
Waving and shaking in the soft breeze,
In the centre a small body crouches, waiting,
Suddenly the web vibrates and tremors,
The shape in the centre stands slowly,
Moving faster and faster towards the source,
A struggling shape entwining itself further.
The shape stands over its victim, fangs extended,
Swiftly they plunge down as the panic reaches a height,
The victim slows down and kicks for the last time,
Then the shape wraps its prey in a tight cocoon




Same time next week

My job is my life,
It's all I can be,
More places to go,
More people to see,
I must care for all,
But none care for me.
Needs fill the air,
As I perform my magic,
And seem to care,
For the dull and boring,
The stupid and weak,
All will be back,
Same time next week.




The stag

Standing aloof on a lonely hill,
Braying loudly at the clear sky,
Proud and tall it looks to the stars,
As though it sees some of its greatness there,
Antlers outlined against a full moon,
Rising majestically from the large head.
Suddenly the head snaps up,
As a soft ululation fills the air,
Something is moving swiftly across the night,
Grey and sleek, shadow like it comes, unstoppable.
The ghost shape charges forward,
Followed by hundreds more.
As the stag turns to run it is struck,
It falls, blood pouring freely from the open wound.
The shadows move closer,
They sense its distress and grow from it.
The stag stands and falls again, heavy,
It senses the end and gives in to oblivion.
The ghosts move close and feed.




Sacrifice

Lying upon the table,
Looking up into the sable,
Of the blanket hanging over,
Blocking the moon.

I try to turn my head side,
To see just what they have in mind,
But to my horror all that is there,
Is the dark and gloom.

A smash and then a patter,
Of feet upon the ladder,
As people start to come,
Up into my room.

One and then another,
All are cloaked and covered,
But a menace is in the air,
One of dread and doom.

Up steps one towards the table,
Underneath that awful sable,
And raises his hand into the,
I know my end is soon.

At the end glitters a dagger,
Flashing like the window that had shattered,
As a strange intonation,
Begins to fill the room.

And down the dagger flies,
As up the chorus climbs,
And upon that bright blade,
Sparkles a rune.

Filled with mystical persuasion,
As I rise to the occasion,
My body arches like the pillars,
On the ceiling of the room.

Then my life flashes before me,
Of joy and love and stories,
And my mind fills with sights,
All been lost too soon.

As my life drips and fades away,
Like the ending of a bad play,
I wake up cold and sweating,
and find I'm in my own bedroom.




Untitled

As I sit here alone on this cold day,
I look down into the sandy bay,
And think of how we used to be,
Lying below the old oak tree.

Those summer times are finished now,
But I will struggle through, somehow,
Waiting for the cold to lift,
As upon this dream I drift.

Of better times so recently lost,
All this caused by the covering frost,
Then I turn, look up, and catch,
An image of your face, at last.

And realise that those times haven't left,
And of your love I am not bereft,
Summer time will come round once more,
I stand and walk to the open door.




Somewhere

I remember when they found her
Sitting alone by the phone
Surrounded by food she bought last week
Still waiting for you to come home.

All that she saved for went missing again
Hard up, out of luck she takes pride in her work
Looking through the stories of other peoples lives
She said that you would be there

Everyone's gotta be somewhere

There's still a chance




Where do I go from here

Waking up is harder when you want to die
I've a sad hearted feeling to belong
I miss her yes I ain't gonna lie
Why won't you just tell me what's going on

Talking very loud but no-one hears a word I say
I don't know where I'm going
But I know I've only got this moment

Where do I go from here.
Standing here in the dark, it's late
A perfect day for perfect pain
Watch the day disintegrate
Feeling scared but writing that I'm OK

Talking very loud but no-one hears a word I say
I don't know where I'm going
But I know I've only got this moment
Where do I go from here.

I won't be denied this time.




Life

never ending,
always repeating,
same old sadnesses,
same old loses,
never a moment of something new,
so come lets continue just me and you.




~




These are the pathetic poems.




A cold Sunday morning.

Glass work patterns,
Filled with bright paint,
Pictures of Demons, Devils and Saints,
Which is which the rumours spread,
Does Jesus live or is he..............




Love

2000 years and still it remains,
Time and lives change but love is the same.




Loneliness

The ticking of the clock
The creaking of the stair
The bang of the door
The whistle of the wind
None of it matters
For she is gone.