harley
English
Never really liked poetry until my English teacher that I had for Years 9, 10 and 11 inspired my passion for English. I write poems every so often, but not as often as I should, and not as often as I sometimes want. But as is life. I work part time in a pub in Blackburn. Live in a shite hole called Darwen, which is probably why most of my poems are a bit dark... honestly though, I'm quite the happy chap! Still young, but incredibly unsure of my future. But the two things I'd love to do most as a career of sorts is stand-up comedian and poet.
I don't know why I feel this way,
Perhaps my heart is stone or my soul is ice.
A dark shroud covers my persona,
Making me feel like an emotionless husk.
I live, I breathe, but do I feel?
Yes.
But I no longer feel the warmth I once knew,
I'm not worthy of it.
Instead I feel cold, dark and anxious.
Anxious as to why I feel this way.
Anxious, wondering if everything will be ok.
Anxious - in case I never return to normality.
Normality... it's been so long I find the idea laughable.
Although, in its truest definition, I suppose this is normality now.
A dark and brutal normality.
"Cheer up, life's not so bad!"
Yes, but you don't live in my brain.
You haven't walked a mile in these shoes.
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 12:06 PM UTC
Everytime I see your face I want to cause you harm.
I want to harm you like you harmed me,
Taking from me what I held so dear.
She was my sun,
My moon,
But now my days are as dark as my nights,
Clouded over with this sickly spite.
Even a year later I can't begin to forgive you,
At first I blamed myself,
Until I saw you holding hands.
I always wondered why the reason was,
"It just won't work."
I found it odd that the thought manifested itself after over a year of bliss.
I can't blame you,
Perhaps I am the one at fault.
But that won't change the hatred I feel.
It won't change the fact that I feel betrayed.
It won't repair the friendship we once had.
I just hope, for your sake, you treat her how she deserves to be treated.
She's your princess now,
So be the prince that she wishes for,
The prince I wish I was.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 9:13 PM UTC
Life is a long journey,
Over in the blink of an eye,
Full of challenges to overcome,
With the prize of ultimate freedom at the end.
It's the longest journey you'll have,
And it won't always be pleasant.
You'll laugh, you'll cry,
You'll love, you'll die.
Some people try and live fast,
Some try and live slow,
Come and watch the show,
As people race to the end.
Some people think that their journey is pointless,
Goalless,
But they're blind,
Doomed to see black and white.
The others see life for what it is,
Enlightened by the challenges they've overcome,
And see the beauty that lies within this ugly world.
For them the journey is fruitful.
Jun 16, 2012
Jun 16, 2012 at 5:16 AM UTC
What makes a man, a man,
What makes a beast, a beast.
Is it the way in which he lives?
Or the way his ancestor's lived.
The past haunts the present,
The present awaits the future.
Uncertainties tangled within time.
Who will become what,
Travelling down the dark valley,
Withering into the future,
As a rose withers in the winter.
Next springs fertiliser.
What will become of the master species?
The master of all,
But space,time and nature,
The three untameable beasts of the universe.
How can we control our fate,
When we can't control our present?
The grand illusion,
Free-will,
Time,
Humanity.
What is humanity?
When we praise those who ****
For a supposed cause.
What cause can justify the malevolent killings,
Of innocent women and children?
What's humane about our nature?
When we devastate cities,
Regardless of the cost.
How can you put a price on a human life?
Especially ones so innocent.
How can we persecute those who are different?
How can we be different,
When we're all human.
Two arms, two legs.
Two eyes, two ears.
One mouth. One brain.
Speak your mind,
Open your eyes,
See the atrocities of our so called "humanity"
Why do we create,
When all we do is destroy?
Why do we work,
When all we do is spend?
Why leave a scar on Earth's face,
When it's all going to end anyway.
How can we live,
A life like this,
Filled with misery,
Famine,
Destruction,
Wars.
Because it's life.
Jun 16, 2012
Jun 16, 2012 at 5:14 AM UTC
What is it?
Is it what it was,
Or is it what it is?
I'll never know what this new thing was,
But what it is...
What it is, is not unimportant,
No, it's quite important,
To me.
For I am the curious one,
And it is certainly a curious object,
Gazed upon by curious eyes such as mine.
Is it special?
Does it mean something?
Is it something?
It is strange,
Or perhaps I am strange,
For I cannot tell what it was or is or will ever be.
Is it real?
Am I crazy?
Perhaps the world is crazy,
after all, this object is a part of the world.
Yes, the world has gone mad,
This object with it.
I'm sane.
Although, this argument is inane,
Why do I pain myself with this bane of a train of thought?
Why can't I drop it?
I was always taught to leave well alone,
But I didn't.
Instead I carried on, wondering, pondering, thinking hard,
About what this strange object is.
Or was.
Or what it could ever be.
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 7:11 PM UTC
What can possibly go wrong,
What harm can it do,
Only five miles an hour faster,
Why not ten more.
It' starting to cloud over,
The once happy sun turns its back on me.
Now the sign flashes 60 mph,
Time to push the boundaries.
It did no harm before,
I'm a good driver.
Foot down,
Eyes open wide,
Rubber's burning fine,
I'm hoping not to collide,
And hurt anything of mine.
I'm a good driver.
The signs order me to slow down,
Me, who is only going 80,
In a 50 zone.
The clouds turn angry,
Stabbing the sky,
Booming it's voice.
It starts raining,
Sirens start wailing,
Rubber starts screeching,
Don't stop accelerating.
The flashing blue lights stalk me,
Like a lion hunting it's feast. haunts me
The piercing cry of judgement haunts me,
But no one can catch this beast.
Open up to 100,
The engine's roaring loudly,
The clouds look upon me in hatred,
Turning the roads against me,
But I'm a good driver.
The police shout in anger,
Telling me I'm in danger,
But I'm a good driver.
I know what I'm doing,
I've got a clean record,
Never any fatalities.
The adrenaline pumps my heart faster,
But the sign's telling me to go 30.
I'll compromise, 60 it is,
They still can't catch me.
A turn up ahead,
The police are getting closer,
I have to go faster.
Peddle to the floor,
I'm a good driver,
65 mph,
Turn up ahead.
Into fifth,
Engine roars loud,
Pull away fast,
Engine roars proud.
Foot off the brake,
It won't save me now,
I'm still a good driver,
So I take a final bow.
Vision fades to black,
Ears start to ring,
I feel so cold,
I slip away.
The sign says ICU,
Do you see?
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 7:08 PM UTC
I'm going to make sure you stay safe,
I'm here to protect you.
I'll be watching over you.
Don't worry, you'll be safe.
I'll tell mother if you do something bad,
Dad won't be too please either,
You'll get told off, they might even ground you.
You won't be allowed out, but you can have visitors if you're good.
We all love you, honestly we do.
We just want what's best for you,
Make sure you don't hurt yourself.
After all, we're your family.
You have to love us back,
Or else I'll tell everyone you're bad.
No one will like you, and no one will listen to you.
You'll be an outcast.
Come now, little brother,
You can't hide from me;
I'm everywhere you look.
You might not be able to see me, but I can see you.
We can play hide 'n' seek if you want,
But I'm pretty good,
Unbeaten.
I know some pretty good hiding places.
As they always say,
"You can run, but you can't hide",
I won't chase after you,
But Dad will, mother will make sure of it.
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 7:07 PM UTC
Kettle's boiling,
Milk's spoiling,
Toast's burning,
Voices raising,
Door's slamming,
Sun's rising,
Car's failing
People running,
Shops opening,
Lighter's lighting,
Cigarette's smoking,
Started coughing,
The end's nearing,
Vision darkening,
Pupils dilating,
Brain's starving.
Casket dropping,
Widow's mourning.
Apologising.
Regretting.
Grieving.
Weeping.
Last breakfast of the morning,
Toast burning,
Wife shouting,
Not knowing,
He's slowly dying.
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 7:06 PM UTC
The rain beats down on his helmet,
Craters turned into pools of brown and burgundy.
Distant artillery shrieks,
A barbaric war song.
Questions buzz around his mind,
Why is he there,
When does it end,
Where are the birds.
No creatures roam no-mans land,
Feared by the cries of young heroes.
Why do the young fight battles,
Instigated by the old,
While the bodies grow cold,
Their lives less precious than gold,
For those who are big and bold,
Behind their desks, in the mansions of old.
The mould grows freely on the wood,
That shelters the holy corpses that should,
Be remembered for the heroes they would,
Have been if only they weren't killed in cold blood.
Sing a song for the unsung heroes of war.
The rain beats down on his helmet,
Thunder crashes around him,
Disguising the gunshot.
Only the dead see the end of war.
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 7:05 PM UTC
I hate life,
But death fascinates me.
The end of such a complex thing,
Surely more beautiful than any springtime rose in the Autumn.
Many see it as a thing of despair, upsetting,
Uncaring and depressing.
But not me, I find it fascinating,
Interesting.
Surely the ultimate closure of a beautiful thing of life,
Is akin to the changing of the leaves, at that precious time of year.
Death isn't a bad thing, its the end of all ends.
The ultimate end game.
I find life so boring,
Wake up, do this, do that, repeat.
Repeat.
Repeat.
Death only comes once, for a split
second.
But it last a lifetime,
Always looming,
Waiting for the perfect autumn, to turn your leaves a golden brown,
And return you to the Earth.
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 7:03 PM UTC