I found a small piece Of happiness. It's warm- Not too hot; It's small- Not so big That I can't cup it in my hands And crouch with it, Wondering how I can bottle Such an airy thing. It's light- So light I only just feel Its crawl towards my heart; So transparent it's… Continue reading A Small Piece of Happiness
Rain used to fall at my window, It was all I could see; All I could hear- The constant drip of cold, Dark skies. But now I've found my better days.
I am not Myself
I am not myself. I’ve never been so, My shadow and I just follow my feet Down empty roads beneath the rusty glow. In thought and solitude I’ll take my seat. But have no pity, for I am not lost; I can find parts of myself here and there. Like here in the lone company… Continue reading I am not Myself
Left only in the company Of slithers of light along the wall, Drawing harsh, poetic lines Across my work. What happened to the day? At what point did the sun give in Laying waste to all I’ve written? What happened to my words? When did they too, abandon me Leaving me like a shadow in… Continue reading Lights
Give me enough time, Let me write it down, Let me show you the evidence Of just how sick I am, Let me prove that I exist; I think these thoughts might kill me Before I ever get the chance.
Put today in a bottle and push it out to sea, Let yesterday get buried in the sand. Watch tomorrow wash up on shore.
Castle walls of mossened stone Etched in charcoal, left exposed To the wind and sharp presence of ghosts Looking out lonely, broken windows. They look at the moon stressing golden cliffs, Its aura stained grey by the clouds; Black shapes writhing like beasts Caged by the rocks. Lights flash, far and dim, From a world… Continue reading Sanctuary
Up On Broomhill
Blacks clouds crackle like static And cause my roses to wilt and waste away, So instead of picking flowers I end up raising the dead Who ride on the wind To arrive like thieves at my door. I am almost tempted to let them in, But they'd only turn to dust To dance and swirl… Continue reading Up On Broomhill
No sun, no light, no gold- No colour except black And the unclouded mould Of sky; plain, thin, old, Marbled with glassy droplets; Crystals unfold, But I remain empty, transparent, Nothing, so cold, My life a soul already sold.
'I'll stay up all night if that's what it takes to be a star.'