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.

Andover ash tree stream

Andover means ash tree stream

The ash tree was said to be the tree of life

we are born from its ashes.

Andover ash trees

Rising from the Ash trees

we are the dust

from those trees

the first man and woman rose from the ashes

maybe we were born in the fires

of dead worlds

every boy and every girl

are Phoenix souls

When Facebook…

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.

Centrefold

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.

There are no Hollywood endings

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…

The shadow behind the sword

In the words we say, a shadow longer than midday sun is cast

Beyond the grave the sword that saves us from the axe

Beyond the taxes and tax collectors in this country vast

though we are but mortals

the books we read our portals

to lives we’ve never lead

our blood runs thick and red.

The shadow behind the sword

is the words we said sincerely

they are the nearly

meant songs of another world

A parallel world when utopia was cast

into years that lasted.

Petals

The petals which open

the heart awoken

then begin to decay

the love is the same love

as I had first

leaves me cursed

and yet singularly its all I have

a smash and grab

god singular

going for the jugular

a vampire

who’s name has no meaning

blood wine

and bread flesh

can’t contain

the rain that falls

Or the sun that shines

but from your diamond tears

I form mine.

Beautiful in a different way

The night bathes the moon

in the gloom only the white of the moon shows

save the distant stars

I am gazing

at the moon

wondering whether it knows

about the sun

The one it reflects

and yet is hidden

I sometimes think

that I am the night to your day

but heaven is humility or so they say

but the moon when full

is beautiful in a different way.