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D Holden Jul 2017
A familiar longing from those in the know
An addiction, a want for just another go.
Convincing ourselves of control with
"I could stop whenever I choose".
But return, pretending it's a choice,
and join the queue to once again lose.

This cycle of return is the gambler's curse.
"Just one big win is all I need",
but you have to lose ten times that first.
We know the rules, we know the game;
Something inside though convinces us to  play all the same.

Where to go? What to do to stop?
The way out is cold turkey but easy to do, that's not.
If the cycle doesn't end then relationships will start to break
And that's definitely a losing gamble that would make my heart ache

I need to get better,
I need to break free.
Today is the day I'm going to begin to be me.
I didn't know what to do,
admitting what is wrong tears me apart.
By writing this I've begun my journey,
and made this my fresh start.

I'm coming back here each day.
I will read this reminder to keep me on my way.
D Holden Jul 2017
An innocent child taught to share.
Taught to know that the relationship;
the journey to share knowledge, love, ideas
and our difference is key.

An educated adult never forgets the child's lesson.
But fear drives self-protection, materialism and pride.

To share what divides us is to plant the seeds of learning.
Comradeship grows from understanding,
and acknowledgement of those differences.

Build a fence. Build a wall.
Create the divide and create the perfect,
repugnant bigot's nursery.

Destroy the very values one thinks will be protected.
Fail to share as only a child learns and build humanity's failure.
D Holden Jul 2017
A deep foreboding, mistakes to reconcile;
sharing the infinite challenge while
bearing the burden within.

Direction, love and encouragement needed,
yet can we hold straight?

Time tells a tale; endeavour to dodge destiny's gamble.
Fate's conclusion beckons.
D Holden Jul 2017
"Just five minutes more" is the cry.
Playtime has been interrupted by the familiar "hurry up."
Vocabulary common to every parent:
"You've had ten more already. Time to get out."

Why do they insist? My needs never win the battle.
Why is my fun spoilt with this never ending list of demands?
"Oh, it's not fair" is yelled in anguish and responded to by further rebuke.
The severity of consequence based on their ambiguous countdown is increasing;
a thread of the "Thinking Spot" will no doubt soon follow.

A few grumbles are followed by silent protest,
albeit underpinned with a threat of childish tantrum.
It's time for the family meal and this standoff has but one resolution.
Isolated relaxation time is over.

The timetable of the young child at the door demands no less;
the parent must vacate their ten minute bath.
D Holden Jul 2017
He pretends.
The essence of this game is knowledge.
Capability knowingly imitated through bluff,
a sleight of hand and a nodding mask.

Nouse is the paint on the mask he wears,
yet the paint fades quickly.
D Holden Jul 2017
Faces in a row wait to begin the daily commute.
Sat aboard we bow our heads to handheld binary,
ignoring the large screen TVs on adjacent walls.
They broadcast another repeat of moving scenery.

We sit with thumb in repetition; we know the story,
it was yesterdays.
But the curiosity to which we serve fails to resist;
a craving for the pictorial record of a faux friend’s breakfast.

Lonely subjects completely surrounded by people.
Yet we hide – validating ourselves as socialites by algorithms of technology.
We sit, hoping to avoid a mundane clone of yesterday,
but facilitate it with various levels of hope for a change of train and better journey.

We’d know the grass isn’t greener on the other train’s TV,
if we looked up to see it.
Appreciate today’s episode, supply a faint smile to another, chat without a digit,
we may yet remedy our hope.
D Holden Jul 2017
Gliding through glistening ripples,
mirroring the milky blue from above.
Viewing the world side-on,
yet gracefully moving forwards.

Golden corn wave their hello.
The passing landscape rolls like revolving stage scenery,
painted by the finest.

She rests at her pilot’s will,
then moves forward once again;
gliding through glistening ripples.

— The End —