Who Am I?
A question too romanticised
To have one answer;
Maybe I'm a butterfly,
Spreading my wings
And becoming a metaphor for creativity
Maybe I'm a spirit, a ghost,
Wandering and gliding around
This plane of existence for answers.
Maybe I'm a leaf,
Fallen from a tree.
I glide and glide and I am free!
Or maybe I'm just me.
I'm myself.
And sometimes I write words
And people like them.
I exist,
And sometimes I do things,
And other things happen after that.
Maybe I'm self doubtful,
Maybe I lack a certain narccism,
Maybe I'm missing my confidence.
But to be honest,
When you ask who I am,
I answer:
I am me.
Oct 2, 2021
Oct 2, 2021 at 10:19 AM UTC
Tomorrow,
Begins a whole new world.
Gone are the days of rampant tyranny
And years of wondering whether
Tomorrow would be safe.
“He’s won, he’s won”
They cry, the tears tumbling down their faces
Red raw with the cries of freedom
And repentance, because everyone is alive
In this brand new world.
All those who were lost are found.
All those who were corrupted are pure.
He’s healed us all; we’re all anew
And we are safe
In the future that he brings.
“Rejoice, rejoice!”
They say, “For we have been broken
From the prison of tyranny
And we can finally sing our song of freedom,
Like a waving crowd on New Year’s Day
We don’t know what the future could bring,
All we need to do now is sing.
For auld lang syne, my dear
Is all we know of now:
Old long since
We tasted freedom.”
Nov 7, 2020
Nov 7, 2020 at 12:10 PM UTC
In your dreams
And in your memories
It is there.
Wild fantasy.
Don’t pretend that you don’t chase it
Like a toddler playing make-believe.
And don’t pretend you don’t yearn for it
Like a roaring thirst you cannot quench.
In the dreamscape,
We all run free
And let our thoughts run amok,
But I know you have that wild fantasy.
Through the meadows of your mind
Past the daisies of yesterday,
And the poppies of tomorrow
You chase the little menace.
Into the fields of wheat
That seem like your emotions.
Past the grain silo
That vaguely resembles your memories.
And soon you catch her,
Your mischievous little sister.
You can’t remember what was on your mind before
So the two of you walk back to the farm and
You just enjoy
Your wild life;
In wild fantasy
We are more real than we will ever be.
Nov 3, 2020
Nov 3, 2020 at 3:38 PM UTC
You know I’m
Here like stone
Waiting for you
To return.
I gave you all my love
And now it slowly fades away
Like the embers of the night
At dawn.
I’m cold to the touch,
Frozen like a glacier
Numb to the pain
Of you.
All I see since
You’ve been gone
Is the emptiness of everything
Around me.
I turn to stone
And when you return
You’ll find nothing but a garden statue
Awaiting you.
Nov 3, 2020
Nov 3, 2020 at 2:57 PM UTC
And as I turned the corner
Into her old room
I saw what I had been warned not to see.
The apparition.
To describe its features would be a great feat;
It had no features so to speak
Just a vague veil
Of a time and place gone by.
In truth it was not terrifying to look at,
In fact it was rather soothing;
The history kept behind the pale old eyes
Kept me drawn to its pale old face.
I was rather calmed by its presence
Until suddenly features started to appear
On its cold dead face
And what had previously been a vacant plane
Was now the vessel of a horrifying creature.
And the sound.
The sound which shattered all the windows
And had with it a tone of fury and anger
Which made my ears cry out in contempt.
And at that point I understood it.
Why it was called what it was.
When I’d heard the cautionary tales of Draymore
I assumed they were nothing but wild fantasy.
But with her scream of a shivering evil
With no compassion in the tone
I realised why
They called her the scream.
Oct 28, 2020
Oct 28, 2020 at 11:04 AM UTC