Poetry is just a part of my life.
Rome wasn't built in a day, so be patient with my nonsensical ramblings.
Despite my youth, I yearn for my past!
To relive some little joyful part of it,
To remember and feel such a blast,
That it is forever recommitted and I not forget
That all I am is borne of those moments!
Ah yes, small moments maybe,
But a big ripple can be made by a small stone,
And times in my life that are happy,
Far outweigh those that would see me undone,
Keeping me fresh years after they occurred,
I wish to travel back!
Just for a day!
In my ideal world,
There's no you, no them,
You see it's my world,
A construct of my imagination.
A glass of scotch, a piece of swing
Blaring for all to hear,
Eyes shut, as I'm lounging,
My legs rest on the arm, without a care,
Small gentle sips,
A warm burn, and sensation,
Away into my own mentality,
Imagining my little place of peace,
A slight bite of heaven,
A taste of something, something just for me.
Here, I'm never down-trodden,
But cheerful and amazingly,
In the world of a simple scotch
And the sound of a piece of swing,
Oh that this world would be,
Something of a reality.
Not too much, not too little,
But just right,
That'd bring me such delight,
If only it lasted a little.
Back in the sands of time,
Before the voices of the Aenílì sung,
And created one and all,
Rua'grain' battled with his brothers, and sisters.
For two thousand millennia, Rua'grain fought,
And it is this that bore the children of evil.
Rua'grain defeated, was cast out of immortality
Consigned to live a mortal life.
Stripped of divinity, he maintained his hold on one power,
For whilst his brothers and sisters sung angelic song,
Creating all that was good.
He alone sung twisted music, creates spirits of evil,
And silently his power and dominion grew!
What a lonely little road!
Shadows creep on either side!
The end is in sight,
then it was yesterday too!
how can this be?
what trickery could this be?
I'm almost at wits end,
i'm almost going to surrender.
the whispering shadows follow you.
they scream, cry and howl at you,
begging you to join them.
Do not let go!
It may be beyond reach!
For Fucks Sake,
The rains sing a steady song,
Building and fading,
The birds warble, it sounds like a throng,
But alas, these moments are brief!
The city wears this beauteous
Cloak of cloud, and adds divine
Autumnal colours! A fine display for us.
This city, this city is mine.
Listen closely to the sounds of the city,
It's quiet now, it is not busy
If ever it is only graceful and calm
It's full of life and has its charm.
What effect the rains have upon this place,
Turning it from dry, to bustling life!
Adding bright colours to the scene,
The rains are a welcome blessing!
Take ten paces apart,
then turn and I shall start
My count up to three,
after which you may feel free
to take your shot,
and hope to miss not
the man who has challenged you
for failing to pay respects long due.
Cracks on either side,
groans and moans of pain,
one of sweet relief.
Deep breaths, and forced composure.
Even as his aids assist him,
they are cool and calm as ever.
The duel is over,
and that is that.
I've loved you since the very first day,
even if I never did quite say "hey".
I've loved you more than my past,
and time with you has gone so fast.
We've had our fights, and tiffs,
its seemed at times like we're on the edge of a cliff.
I've always loved you, like its all I ever could do,
and strangely enough, for the first time, its all I want to so.
What started as friendship,
its grew into a relationship.
What started as friendly love,
grew into passionate love.
I'm not ashamed to admit I love you,
but my dear, If I ever lost you,
I could very well live half a life,
for without you I'd only have half a life.
I've always loved you
It's like its fact, in fact it is.
Theres so much I want to do for you,
but thats not for this.
You're a filthy little bastard,
you were always undesired!
You look like Shit,
and also smell like it.
You're a worthless little prick
who I wish I could kick.
Of course you dress like a sleaze
and I could say bye with ease.
You inspire the worst in me,
Please! Just leave me be.
Of course its easy enough
to say the worst,
to a realistic reflection
in the mimicking mirror.
Men have been great,
from birth till death,
from Jesus to Napoleon,
Men have been great.
But what is it that makes men 'Great'?
Is it compassion and heart?
Passion and intensity?
Ferocity and battles?
humility and wisdom?
It depends on who you ask.
Fame perhaps, makes these men great,
thats something they all have in common.
A positive reputation in the eyes of someone,
be it a follower, a supporter, a believer.
What is 'greatness'?
such a good question.
What makes men 'great'?
Another good question.
The time has come
to ponder on this final question,
"Can I too be great?"
His eyes spat fire far and wide,
his temper flared like hells rage.
There were few who assuaged him,
only the enemies who lay dead.
He searched the globe in fierce pursuit,
wanting them all dead and rotting.
He would bury them wherever he be,
On land or deep raging seas.
If ever they should tell my story,
what would they say?
How would they say it?
He lived the common life?
Plain as one could live?
Aye, this seems fair, but I pray
this is not that all my life should be.
I hope it grows to something extravagant,
well and truly before I die.
Perhaps, I do think too much,
perhaps, I should feel a little bit more.
I think, ponder, and dwell and such,
I do not get passionate any longer.
I think when my heart suffers,
tis easier to think, and escape the pain
of a wounded heart. Its easier to bear.
It's just that plain.
I'm scared to feel, feeling has hurt me before,
It's the excuse we all like to share.
Frankly, right now, I've nothing to lose,
so this is the path I chose.
In this being my course,
I accept my fate.
Please Life, Don't use force,
I'll quietly accept my fate.
Being great at something,
it doesn't make it any easier.
In time perhaps you might
accept it, and acclimatise,
being a good soldier,
it doesn't necessarily make it easier
to shoot your opponents down.
Being great at something,
it doesn't make you immune to pressures.
Nor the mock and ridicule.
There is a lot to consider,
when being great at something.
Who sits amongst the tree tops,
peering down, inquisitively poking his nose?
Ah, yes! The little Nature boy.
The forgotten child whom nature has reclaimed.
Why it was years ago now, but yes, still
I remember. Eerie foggy mornings,
the quiet groan of the forests, and the distant
rustle of the foliage, above and around them.
Then, as if by some cruel plot,
a ravenous pack of animals wild,
bore down upon them,
one, two, three to a person,
weapons fired, weapons dropped,
useless, now they lay lifeless.
Yet, by some strange miracle
the boy survived. He grew and grew
eating of the plants and fruits
which the forest gave.
And, until this day he is a mystery
but a mystery people long to see.
There are some things in life,
Some which are absurd,
some which are misunderstood,
and Some which cause strife.
One such thing falls under all three,
In my youthful folly, I suffered,
t'was no ones fault but mine,
I was infatuated, obsessed, and ensnared
by passions of the youthful times.
In an age where magazines speak of beauty,
looks, and all forms of apparel (or lack thereof)
where sister fights sister in attempts to catch an eye
and hopefully secure for themselves a man.
My heart was stolen, it was fractured and broken,
by a woman who knew not who she was,
or who she could be, but she is forgiven..
That does not alleviate my guilty conscience.
When on my knees and in the tempest,
I began to lose my faith and heart.
He came in humble Glory,
he came in all his unfailing love.
A display of unending grace...
where he knew all I had done,
but still wiped my slate clean,
and sat me next to his throne.
My broken heart was struck with affliction,
burdened by weights of guilt and shame,
yet, t'was Gods great grace in perfection,
alleviated me and freed me from the devils game.
I'm not perfect, I still do some shameful things,
but his grace is sufficient, and ever present.
Always washing over my soul is my Kings
unfailing love. He gave me an eternal present.
He took my place.
Delivered me grace.
Tore asunder my chains,
and alleviated my pains.
He is My king,
He is My God,
He is My brother,
He is My creator.
I love him.
I praise him.
I worship him.
Always and Forever,
I was no ordinary child,
if anything I was something mild.
My Friends were not always people,
but something more desirable.
For one day, as chance did have it,
I was walking through the store,
my parents just behind me, then, there it
was, that teddy bear I began to adore.
I raved and I got excited...
There was simply this wonderful bear,
and to receive it, I would have been delighted,
but...Little did I know the story of this bear.
Many weeks if not months had passed,
Christmas fell upon us, and in the passions
of removing christmas wrappings, I had
seen the white fur, I thought is was illusions.
But nay, It was my bear from the store,
wrapped in a box, with his sapphire cloak
and his lovely soft and white fur,
and it was never a cruel joke.
Now, However, Its tale is somewhat sadder,
He sits enthroned on a shelf, ne'er seeing use,
recognition or thanks. It must be a kind of abuse,
to leave this bear sitting on the shelf each day growing sadder.
I would like to make a change,
but unfortunately I had to age.
On our way we shall go!
Merrily, merrily we shall hunt!
Pursuing the fox with hound and mount!
Over brush, under felled tree,
dashing and bolting the fox eludes us.
Round the hills, still running free,
this amber devil can make sudden disappearance.
On the hills crest sat an idle oak,
still as can be, without a single leaf,
No noises were heard, no great croak
or bellowing moans, just silent relief.
It must have felt quite isolated,
had it a song, what words it would sing.
The world is bleak, the young die
while old live on,
fewer and fewer are born,
till none survive and its the beginning of the end.
But here, Amidst the chaos, amidst the desperation,
amidst the troubles and woes of the world,
a significant chance of hope,
a woman with child, provides hope to the hopeless.
Months into the process, it seems supernatural,
a world of hopelessness, and here the mother to be hides.
Kept hidden, kept "safe", extorted, "protected"
and then, rescued and led on the necessary mission.
Born in a camp, a slum, a ghetto,
those dulcet tones were heard.
The infants cries resounded,
and hope was then restored.
Such an infant could bring the peoples
up from their knees. To resume life as it should
be. To ensure that man survives,
first it has to survive Man.