martin-barnes
Winchester
I like to read, I like to write; I like to think, I like to dream; I like to talk, I like to listen. I like to see the sunrise in the morning, I like to see the moonlight at night; I like to feel the music flowing on my face, I like to smell the wind comi
Wide eyed I searched for words
Etched on sand stone walls
Old memories sound in the
Subconscious mind and
Arch my whitewashed thoughts
That excite mysteries beyond dusk
Underneath our blue skies that form
Pictured clouds that tale stories of
Old and shatter the trust of illusion
While viewing the light naked fibres
Whose beauty steams the lost waves
In a shifting wind
Within thy sad thoughts that soar
And rise like the morning tide
And crumbles into fine sand
But evil reigns in the struggled mind
All power proceeds in a locked perception
Unexpressed by our narrowed past
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 7:33 AM UTC
Immortal words lingers in my
Elasticated thoughts,
Yet, suppressed by growing old
With Fearless pain that time cannot
Ease alone.
When I cried, it chased unpleasant
Dreams of sanity,
Just too much time cannot erase
Old wounds,
The pain is too real like childhood
Fears
Now, I’m bound by the cruelty held
Within
But, you still have all of me
I’ve tried so hard to tell myself
That time will heal once again
Yet, my life has slipped through thy
Hands
As I fight away the tears once again
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 2:33 AM UTC
The last letter of blatant words condemns one’s thoughts
Yet, truth and lies hurt in our freedom of religion
Unbelievers speak and fight their own slanderous path
Yet, modern romanticism thrives in bitter sweet times
Writers critique riddled lyrics and light of knowledge
Yet, question wordless replies that have doubt to smile
Lame philosophy torments innocence minds like grains of sands
Yet, eternity calls outcry in the sword of defence
Unbendingly cliché, the stern morality of betrayal
Yet, our hearts voice goodwill without idleness
What do you have in the ability to survive in the external world
Yet, the division between persona and new blood Christianity exist
Mixing fact with fiction how fluid is identity with unreliable narrators
Yet, they are purged with pride though still live in darkness of the past
But, no man or woman has written their epitaph
Yet, the anonymous voice has the final say of words
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 2:37 PM UTC