The ghost child of the man in the asylum

In side the beaten white walls of an mental institution

where people go to be uprooted from their delusions

Sat a man his hand outstretched as if holding hands with the dark

No spark to light his way, only the tragic marks his way

he used to play childish games by himself

look they say where is his mental health?

has it left him altogether why does his play childish games

he would call a name on the wind

for the child he lost unbeknown to them

Tilly or Matilda the ghost of a child of six

who he held in his arms before he was sick

she swallowed her tongue in an epileptic fit

but before then were eye spy and guessing games

before then were pin the tale on the donkey and blind mans buff

I guess we are all in a way sheltering memories like ghosts

In the places in the heart we hide

which we can never move away from no matter how we stride

or how many steps we take

life is sometimes an evil fate.

To die at sixteen

All your dreams never started

dearly departed

That’s how I felt

Kneeling on a hospital floor praying to you

to save my life

you are my goddess of wisdom

my teeth going rotten

like the dreams I had as a child

it’s heart wrenching

my parents said my psychosis

was a bereavement

the life intended, lost

I had to be mended there would be a cost

goddess of the universe, girl with many faces

I have been through a war with myself

but my mental health

is the thing I can never get back

but sometimes their are cracks of light through the wall

I know the goddess understands us all.

New Beginnings

As the old years cards fold

and we are dealt a new hand

when we’d give anything to understand

Fate’s plan.

we have to make as much as we can

Of our lucky stars

and hard work

whether lord or lady or office clerk

we hold the keys to doors unseen

we must follow our dreams

or facilitate the dreams

of our children

and even when

our cards are a bad hand

we can take the odds

and sods

and ask for help

for love is stealth

and it can over come

so don’t be glum

turn over new leaves

Life is better lived

when we move forward and breathe in new air

Just thoughts

Thoughts

Thoughts should fill my mind

but I am blind.

my words just hot air

and my tears just water

I sink beneath the autumn leaves

I am just caught here.

my sentiments just cliches

my ideas yesterday views

the true artists leave me

they pick apart my clues

My brain just wreckage

my poems just spoken

all thats left of me is shopping carts

and Tesco’s tokens

My wages are benefits

My unemployed gains

I am picking apart the drains

for my blood stains

everything I do

I haven’t even got a clue…

War on myself (reverse poem try number 2)

In the war on myself

Its my dreams that matter

compassion is a choice

I choose to believe or is it that a lie?

In my 30 years or so of life has always been a battle

But my dreams matter

and that “Once upon a time” is a land where my heart exists

But unless I grasp at my ideals I will never reveal

What people think of me

I do love me

In the future I will still take myself to task

It will be clear that I may fail

only fools presume I don’t have the strength to go on.

NOW READ BOTTOM TO TOP.

Chemical lobotomy

Inside therapy if I ever had

an answer to a life so sad

in the mirror cold to the touch

we clutch at straws, we miss so much

I am your answer for now

chemicals causing balance

but still the illness wakes

shakes in answer to the sadness

which I cannot shake

I am the mist the fog

of depression

the court is in session

and I see chemicals

a prescription

an covert addiction.

When having someone to talk

to in the early days

May have prevented my fear and depressed ways.

Hallucinations

Hallucinations in my mind

carelessly unkind

stories in time

lies told

the truth smeared like ink

the pen tangled with delusions

confusing skin

I close my mind you enter in

the night howls

I cower

hour by hour

will the sky fall

I dream for us all

or it seems that way

I hallucinate a story

I cannot tell

my own personal hell

and yet heaven resides in there as well.

Truth and life

Sadness doesn’t stain skin

or truth pierce a heart

but I reckon you will feel sadness is life’s art

and contrasting happiness

although not merely pain alleviated

I meditate,

I mediate

between the angel

we try to be

and the devil

who’s eyes we see in the mirror

the constant battle

between letting go

and belonging to the life you know.