Tag Archives: Poetry

In the Garden

Calm as still as water.

And the might of many which bewitch your age.

Feel it as the wind whistles and the birds dawdle.

 

You are trying to come to terms with your choices,

I know,

I have been there before too, staring blankly at the glassy surface.

And hoping, hoping that it can swallow you up.

 

Because inside you feel it’s all wrong.

And all you did was wrong. And all you will do will be wrong.

 

But trust me. It will be ok.

 

There is more than enough time.

To wait and enjoy. In this garden.

As day

A cold as black as day,

Yet stiller and more harsh

Spreads like roots do through soil

Then contain a tender blow.

 

I doubt I am the missive

Aching of my heart

That can turn and scream

And have it near

Worlds away, apart.

 

I miss you with my curseful pause.

And stiller with my heart

That place where you took me once.

Now forever gone.

This is For

This is for all you fools

Who choose to stay alive

And blithely say the world

Is better before you die.

 

This is for existence;

It was never worth the time

To believe and feel the hurt

As reality falls behind.

 

This is for my heartbreak,

The one that cuts like knives

Not of men; the lurid creature,

But because I’m still alive.

 

This is for my thoughts

And the cuts I pierce on skin,

My aching woes, my worst disease;

The allegory of my sins.

 

And this is for the people,

The ones I will leave behind,

I had myself, I had my heart,

But the light I couldn’t find.

 

So move on without me,

As I know you will

Because time heals, to be no more

My aching blood is still.

The Trial

 

‘In pain!’ the master lawyer shouts, ‘In pain you must not jest,

To leave me with the all before and longing of the best!’

He stamps his plump feet along, upon the wooden floor,

And reels off a list of nine; the sins I have adored.

‘You pushed a knife right through her chest, you hurt her, dead I say!

You bundled body, you bundled more; you threw her life away!’

And with this, the look of disgust flies across his face

And passes on the jury gone, in their only place.

‘Do you know what you have done?’ he asks with all implore,

‘Befouling and committing murder.’

What careful guilt I bore,

As gavel rests in judge’s hand and jury look in spite

Upon my figure, cowering hence who knew not wrong from right.

‘I know’ I say, in all endure, my voice distinctly low.

I know what I have done,’ I say, ‘I know where I must go.’

With these uneasy words, a thousand eyes then fall

Upon my guilty figure there, cowering by the wall.

The lawyer, then he turns around to see his wistful crowd,

So eager for me put to hell; only then will they be proud.

For I have done what others only dream they can achieve.

Imagine up in careful nightmares of stories I believe.

And the master lawyer, then he settles there.

The jury is beneath his thumb; breathes them like they’re air.

He knows of course that he is all, he knows that he has won;

Receives a healthy sum of money for all that I have done.

And the jury wait with baited breaths, thinking in their minds

How I am not a human more, no member of their kind.

And as for that, their only notion, I’m afraid I must agree

As cameras flash all over me, adhering to my plea.

Because I lost myself one aching night, when hatred ruptured me;

Consigned myself within my mind to not again be free.

Not live without my actions tarnished, not sleep through all the night,

Forever carry consequence of my ill-intended smite.

The master lawyer smiles then as I am put away;

Left for only darkness gone; rot, rot and decay.

His fat cheeks adhere the evil, spread it through my veins,

Boil my blood in harsh regret as I am locked in chains.

Why is it Winter Still?

Why is it winter still,

With the thrashing wind and slaving chill?

The splashing water beating panes,

My tears falling whilst it rains.

 

Why does this winter enslave the Earth?

Capture, hold it, demean its worth,

And steal the beauty of what once was

With icy breeze and chilling frost.

 

Why is my heart as cold as snow?

The swirling, drifting, cantankerous flow

Of fleeting white and beating flecks,

Flames of blue with thawing wrecks.

 

And why, even as winters pass,

And spring flowers return with gasp

And sunlight beams above the grass,

The winter inside, it still lasts?