The erosion of empathy
You play hero I will play villain
though shades of grey exist and the truth not always willing
to rear it’s ugly head
filled with the expectation of being cancelled
and being heard
or Amber Heard
is different from being adept
or Johnny Depp.
we are divided down many lines and labels
and what we are being told merely a fable
when we can’t take it with a pinch of salt
and we halt
and can’t show a sign of empathy
How did life and judgement get so unjust
and all cards we hold are bust
because we no longer care just lust over celebrities
while our empathy is eroded and no treaty
or thought police AI can save us
from not understanding the people we see before us.
Pestilence
I am a prison of puppets
muppets who can’t free themselves
Supermarket shelves bare
I am cursed
empty pursed.
lips dry and empty
swept under the Carpet of artificial grass
I can’t be arsed
freedom is too hard a task
I am can’t save myself
for all grasping
rearrange the letters in my name
it spells denial
I can smile
but happiness won’t change a thing
I can’t stop dreaming
scheming
a way out of dread
but pestilence fills my head…
Lifted
If only we could be lifted
gifted
a chance to love
I threw mine away
in the cold shadowy day.
I would of gave you grace
bled my out stretched arms
given up all my magic charms
for one night with you
I am a poet I feel things deeply
And yet I can’t imagine a world where we are together
your eyes of soft radiance glowing
all seeing all knowing
your smile lights my dreams
candle lit scenes
and forever I hear your voice
entangled in my head like my dreams.
My last act
Cut off my sellotaped glasses
staring at asses
of girls I can’t have or marry
carry the child I am into the sham
bury all I am
did I give a damn.
yes yes yes I did…
amid tragic transformation
and a pure imagination
spoilt only by being a man
who cannot understand
the state of this world
So throw my body to the flames
a heart who can’t be tamed
full of tearful shame
and guilt ridden blame
I am the anger inside a coke bottle
shaken with mentos falling inside
afterwards fizzy fallout
I will be spent and full of doubt.
Is anything really new anyway?
Beat box
Sounds the same
dubstep bass sound gains
the themes of songs will they run out
recycled like words of revolution
films and their titles
characters and dance recitals
books and villains
psychosis and chilling vendettas
is anything really new?
colours and musical spectrums
songs on the radio, a selection
the human condition and reality
dragging out themes
daydreams scream
they generate our generations dreams
can we be different
can we be new
can ideas be lost
can they grow inside of you?
Peter Pan as a Man
Drifting from day dream dramas
Karma an unhinged beast
feasting on imagination
His righteous indignation
blushing red against his skin
but chained against his respectable aura
he didn’t want to grow up
He’d rather blow up
like a bomb
Songs gather enemies embolden
the golden days are over
fairies watch dying in the distance
His shadow takes over leading him on
Peter Pan as a man
He’s forgotten to dream
to feed the crocodile of time
these are the days that loose their shine
corporate suits kill
never land roots lost
We all grow up he’ll never settle down
lost in psychosis
waiting for cleansing osmosis
telling tales no one believes…
You look at me with eyes that don’t remember
In your eyes the tragic reminder
that memories fade
into the void
and get destroyed
I loved you more than my heart conveyed
though time is a blade
it cuts out the good and bad
memories or leaves scars
the stars that aligned
now fate has mined
and we with left separated when we should have been entwined.
Voiceless child
I was wild and free once upon a time
a child with time and rhymes
but my parents can’t listen
just thought of me being bad
curbing my behaviour
they couldn’t be my saviours
I went quiet wanting to start a riot
It could have gone two different ways
but life strays on to one path
the aftermath of which
made me a background poet
my poetry is the ink I bleed
from wounds I don’t need
My parents need me to be their counsellor
but I can’t
I just can’t…
cycles can be broken
when loves awoken
but sometimes I want to fight back
to see the crack
of light through the walls.
I miss the days
I miss the bad days
the way you hate me
your words reverberate around my head
we are still in conversation
though in my imagination
sex and beastly claws
the way you wanted more than I could give
I cannot live
without thorns a rose wouldn’t be a rose
I am torn our love wasn’t really love without pain
I am just a blood stained hand holding on
a rose
it’s thorns like all your angry words cutting through skin
love is a tragedy we are all flawed within
yet romantic attachment
when it works
can heal the heart and make it beat like it’s going berserk.