If poets continue to circulate their work after death what does an undead poet look and sound like?
Waking up on a cold brown leather sofa
Not knowing who I am
a man and women ask me how I am?
I ask them if they have any children?
they say no
then a child comes in from the voids light
it’s her birthday
she says I will never drive as knight rider plays on tv
then she asks for a sister and two appear
more birthday girls although one older and one younger
Years on I went to that house
a girl not the same one says something terrible happened here to you
because of you
I hear it in the whispers on the telephone
I see visions of the man being arrested
how did I get home?
this waking dream won’t relent
I am prevented from seeing what happened
You were too bright to be a diamond
a halo of brightest stars
a lover beyond the tears of a heroine
of the classical
you could be chiselled in marble
yet heart is flesh
but your soul is held in golden sunlight
and yet you are my darkness
in your shade
I carry the obsidian blade
to protect you
and sacrifice my heart.
The diamonds in your eyes
Will there still be there when you die?
I like to say it’s all lies,
your light will shine like stars in the night sky
we are one
our oneness is the universe
the goddess holds in her purse
close to her heart.
Loneliness the beast feeds on my confidence
until all have is insanity
I will hold it back with words driven home with meaning
maybe I will be dreaming
a better a life
maybe I am reaping what I have sown
but I will not believe in fear I love myself and own all I am
I am the shadow and the light
and I will fight until my hands wither
and I grow faint
I will ignore the loneliness and it’s taint.
Sitting in the darkness of my nan’s cupboard under the stairs talking to god
an odd little boy
Who wanted his dreams to matter
Who wanted them to be true
I needed love but I need my beliefs to be real too.
my life’s foundations aren’t love as they ought to be
but wanting to have a special relationship with the creating force or spiritual entity
or maybe to be special or chosen myself
I am the monster who daydreamed blue skies
but when the light in my eyes dies
who will I be?
the man with tears in his eyes for all he let go
the man with tears in his eyes because he never got to let his heart show
someone that they mattered above all
my heart was always a shield or a wall.,,
I used to talk to god in the dark wilds of my grans cupboard under the stairs
I used to walk around the playground looking for friends just getting blank glares
I used to think god was a man but it’s probably a goddess I was looking for
I used to think I had the key to heavens door,
I broke into her house looking to talk some more
I used to want to be last messenger of god but the girl with many faces needs someone else
I have walked through the white corridors of mental asylums
I have been a child trying to find her
She left me clues
this is the haunted man once a strange child blues.
they said she would hold your heart
in the deepest darkest part of her soul
her love for you burning like a curse out of control
but they lied or was it fate
because love is hate
war is peace
and you are still free
but dumb in this land of the glum
A setting sun wanting to be her equal
by the quill you write with
you fight with
you love her with respect
does she respect you?
for you were her favourite
where you depraved right?
To turn and walk and away
when she seeks other men to kiss on her pillow
you are just a weeping willow
she cries on
a somber song she lives on
But when is all said and done
you fight for her when the worlds unfair and wrong
you are her strength
the love given that makes her strong
and when she finally sees
the forest from the trees
will you guide her
keep her stride
for you and her make world collide.
The hero is known as the villain
Schizophrenia is chilling
in my mind
unkind thoughts strain
hurt by incandescent pain
A voice that chains my soul
yet in the distant soul an angel calls me
the only way I can get to you is time
and living out this life of madness and grime