Time may pick her locks
moths eat her frocks
and her splendid looks may fade
but she will still hold my heart
like the spark of her voice
hangs like an echo in the Everglades
in Elysium fields her flowers grow
Only the roses know
the gardeners hands
we nurture the voice we want to hear
even if it is the one we fear
we grow all of what we know
I loved her so
but I was fearful of losing
the ghost of her out of my head.
For if I lose her voices dulcet tone
I will be truly left alone…
Records and tapes
times that were great
when mobile phones didn’t exist
or were brick like
we went on hikes
long walks
football games in the park
until it got dark
we played board games
and weren’t board
hero quest and chess
Droughts snakes and ladders were the best
Rubiks cubes
Ice pop tubes
frozen lollies
going to the beach
with a brolly
being active roly polys
watching 4 TV channels
going to grans who always had the radio on
feeding the ducks and swans
with my Mum
Dad taught to ride a bike
without stabilisers
play fighting with siblings what could go wrong?
feeling invincibly strong
and a feeling of hope
the future wouldn’t be a joke
and it was the end of era
a 80s child a 90s young man
somethings you have to experience to understand.
When Facebook is filled with memes
broken pictures and shattered dreams
when you respond with a haha like
but no one recognises your plight
when they are too busy finding out their character is that of a potato
and you get ignored but don’t hate though
when they share posts like who would narrate your life
and you want to get out of that conversation because it probably be piers Morgan and his wife
remember you chose to live on Facebook and be a troll
and life is out your door and off your phone which is sucking away your soul.
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.
Are you as warm and inviting as your picture?
your eyes inciting, emotion
yet a photo is cold to touch
as offers so little, not as much
as a warm hand
and a offer to understand.
You demand attention
with your style and made up grace
But i long to touch a real face
and place my lips on hers
but am not sure
that you’d like me if we met
chances are you and I would regret
see life and love are built on tender moments of time
spent drifting into conversation
not living in frustration
of meeting a lingerie clad model
life is not that kind of movie
But feel free to prove me wrong
with a character to match those looks
maybe I should just keep my head in my books
what could I offer you
but my dreams and poetry all the while
after all I struggle for style and grace
and where your face is pretty
I am ugly and with a worn out smile.
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.
In the emotion pouring through your words
I can see the love you have for this world
as the liars stoke the fire
and set about dismantling your message
and it’s essence
we need to change we are killing not only ourselves
but eco systems we rely on to stock supermarket shelves
we are killing our future and choking future generations with plastic
We have to make the changes now or our casket will be closed
under a sea of rubbish we all know
should have either never been made
or just recycled.
I am sending you my hopes and prayers
but I swear there will be no Hollywood endings
I am sending you my dreams and aspirations
born of perspiration
and tears
But there are no fairy tales here.
Set sail for distant lands
But it’s all just dust and sand
I know there is magic I heard it on the freezing breeze
in the coughs of old men
but life can’t give you a happy ending
you have to find it yourself
and accept it for what it is…
Given the gift
of sight
we fight and wrestle
nestling
in escapism
but it’s a prison.
she is out there
Sophia the goddess of wisdom
she spoke to me when I was 7
now I am nearly 37
I hear her voice
like yin and yang
Speaking her words to me
Am I just hearing things?
Is my mind just broken and in a sling?
Or am I just another author with a gift?