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Julian Delia Sep 2019
I will never have good financial standing.
My wallet must feel besieged,
Like the sacking of King’s Landing.
Money just flies through my fingers;
Like the angel of death,
Bankruptcy always looms and lingers.
I spend it on escapades and exuberance,
On journeys to escalate my studies of life,
To forbear nothing from its tutelage.

I will never have a peaceful, settled life;
No 2.3 kids, no doting, darling wife.
Neither will I have a Golden Retriever;
No picture-perfect moments,
No Instagram photo captioned ‘she’s a keeper.’
I will go the edges of the world;
I will unfurl hammocks, as the jungles get deeper,
As I hear the whispers of life,
And my ears strain to listen like receivers.

I don’t care about losing either of those prospects;
Uninteresting endeavours, uninspiring projects.
To me, only love deserves mourning;
It is the primer of all things,
The driver of all of nature’s calls,
The reason why the mockingbird sings.
That must be why my heart can’t stand the quiet,
Why I’m like a viral riot, an epidemic insurrection.
That must be why I’m mourning an unrequited connection.

You are everything I will never have.
I will have an empty heart, and empty hands.
If it never happens in this life,
I hope I’ll get to see you again in the next one.
This is the poem I wanted to be my hundredth one on this website. I love you, hello poetry community. Thank you for existing.
Julian Delia Sep 2019
I will always love you;
Stupidly, foolishly, recklessly.
Spiraling downward, endlessly.
A connection that spans the seas, the oceans;
One that ignores pleas or motions,
One that steamrolls over dismissals,
Ignoring any and all commotion.

Maybe it’s because you’re the closest I’ve been to love.
Maybe it’s because I felt whole with your head gently resting on my chest.
Seeing you again now makes me forget what happened back then.
Your smile is like a sunset, a warm caress that puts me to rest.
It makes me forget that we’d turned our relationship into a battleground,
A battlefield painted red with the innards of innocence for the brushstroke.
A place where hopes were grounded to dust,
And pain’s parasitic relationship with distrust was profoundly compounded.

It’s almost 5 in the morning;
I miss you, even though I saw you yesterday.
This irresolutely irrational passion of mine,
These two paths that just want to intertwine,
These glances and moments that send chills down my spine -
They shouldn’t be here anymore, but they are.

Maybe, it’s because I’m alone,
And you’re the only face that feels like home.
Maybe, yours is the only embrace I can hold;
Maybe, I’m just being foolishly bold.

They say find what you love,
And let it ruin you.
Here I am, like the remains of the Parthenon;
Here I am, standing ready, ready to be led on.
Ready, bracing myself to be destroyed once more;
Ready to burn like a lit match that met fuel that’s seeped into your pores.

That is what you and I are;
I am the lit match, and you are the fuel.
Together, we make ashes of kingdoms,
Petty serfs of kings.
And an absolute mess of ourselves.
I don’t care about being right or wrong, anymore;
I just want us to make sense of things,
And see what destiny’s got in store.
Sometimes, some threads of fate are longer than you expect them to be.
Julian Delia Aug 2019
Last July was the hottest month, ever.
That is, ever since we ‘officially’ started tracking weather.
The Earth is lying on the bathroom floor, wrists severed;
I wonder whether this is a storm we can weather,
Or whether we’ll all perish together.

Greenland lost 12.5 billion tonnes of ice sheets.
That is,
The island that was 80% ice is becoming one, giant, puddle.
The earth is about to be slain, a warrior conceding defeat;
Huddle up, give your loved ones a cuddle,
For we are so troubled that any aliens out there must be truly befuddled.

My generation was born with a guillotine looming over our heads.
An impending sense of dread,
As corporations put on their executioner’s hoods,
And reach for the lever.
A sordid reality in which to save the planet,
One must fight one’s own government;
A reality in which we may have done permanent damage,
A reality in which valour gets no monuments,
But only condemnation and incarceration.

Remember these names:

Julian Assange. Currently awaiting an 18-count indictment charge from the US.

Edward Snowden. Could face up to 30 years in prison if the US get their hands on him.

Chelsea Manning. Spent 7 years in prison.

Abdullah Öcalan. In prison since 1999.

Edem Bekirov. A man who has been dying in prison for the past year.

Benny Tai. Sentenced to over a year for fighting for what is right.

Nasser Zefzafi. In prison for the next 20 years.

Kerry Shakaboona Marshall. A man who received a life sentence aged 17 years old.

Simon Blevins, Richard Roberts, and Richard Loizou. Sentenced to over a year for fighting fracking.

Tim DeChristopher. 21 months for fighting oil and gas pipelines.

Stella Nyanzi. The raunchy Ugandan poetess who cannot be tamed, no matter how many times prison beckons.

This list is basically endless.
It is saturated in blood that drips from the corners of the page,
Soaked in the rage of brave men and women, living in a cage.

Depression. Exhaustion. Numbness.
Oppression and a lack of caution,
Leading us to this dumb mess.
This can no longer be the norm.
We can no longer conform,
Nor can we compromise or haggle;
We must reverse our own demise,
For this is our generation’s battle.
The pain of our extinction.
Julian Delia Jul 2019
Interloping through your fields,
Hoping you’ve lowered your shields.
I hope I’ll get my point across.
Trepidation, nausea in my soul;
The revolution’s my only goal.
There’s no other point,
No other gig, no other role.

And yet, all you see is Utopian, impossible ideas.
Folded neatly, packed in boxes, and stowed away,
Like a discounted cabinet from IKEA.
My brain bubbles like a *** of stew;
Plenty of ideas, more than a few.
There’s my cue;
The room goes quiet.
Anxious like my rent is due,
Angry enough to start a riot.

Every time I speak about what could be,
I can hear brows furrowing, disbelief developing,
All in doubt as to what we would see.
It’s so frustrating, being dismissed;
I’m sorry, is there something I’ve missed?

They call people like me idealistic;
They say alternatives are unrealistic.
Idealism is what keeps us evolving,
What keeps us from dissolving,
From melting in a vat of redundancy,
From getting suffocated by incumbency.


Visionaries are what separates a living culture from a graveyard.
Stationary nation states, overseeing like unforgiving vultures -
But hey, at least you’ve got your promos and your saver cards.


If capitalism is the best we can do,
Then we really are ******* *******.
You might think I’m being rude,
But, you know that I’m just being shrewd,
That I’m spitting out the uncut truth.
You’re in my brain’s building complex now;
This poem’s going to be a rare beauty,
A collector’s item, get your cheques out.

Call me whatever you want.
I’ve got no riches to flaunt,
For the revolution requires empty hands.
Let go of the designers and the brands;
It’s time to face the music and fetch the popcorn,
For the end of the world is going to be grand.
'So what's your solution, then?'
'*******, that's my solution.'
Julian Delia Jul 2019
Disconsolate desolation.
Completely alone; gnawed to the bone,
Like a miserly master’s nation.
Like there’s austerity measures,
Safeguarding my heart’s limited treasures.

Too little, too late;
My courage was too fickle,
My fear was too great.
Now, somebody else will hold your hand.
Now, you’ve become forbidden territory,
An exotic fruit from a foreign land.

I am by no means a quixotic figure;
Sometimes, I can barely look at a mirror,
Let alone letting love come hither.
I feel like I should’ve been quicker;
Before loneliness makes me feel sicker,
Before my heart and mind continue to bicker,
I should have said:

‘Hey, you. You are a gorgeous human being, and I want to fall in love with you.’

I should have laid it out,
I shouldn’t have let fear overtake me.
I should have reached out,
Rather than just hope someone will just save me.

Now, someone else will be privy to your soul;
Someone else will support you and your goals.
I will obscurely fade away,
Not unlike a shadow;
Thugging through rainy days,
As empty as a meadow.
I now proclaim myself the King of Bad Timing & Lack of Self-Esteem
Julian Delia Jul 2019
Foggily, groggily spinning out.
Slowly slipping lowly,
Depths of hell calling out.

Stretched t h i n,
About to split my own skin.
Pedal to the metal,
All the ******* time;
Got to spot my slot,
Got to make a ******* dime.

Chasing the scream,
Losing the dream;
Spent and empty,
With a heart that’s hefty.

I blurt out this truth.
Turns out, it soothes.
I just found out -
It’s dangerous to let your heart air out.
Don’t let your hair down,
‘Cause we’ve got demons crawling around,
Like lice attacking your crown.

Exhausted.
                  Haunted.
                                    Stunted.
                                                   Hunted.
Bring it on, *****.
                              I haven’t got anything left to lose.
Different styles, it's been a while.
Julian Delia Jul 2019
Ġrieħi miftuħin,
Xejn ma jrid jingħalaq.
Suppost, il-ġnus maqgħuda,
Iżda lkoll qegħdin mifruxin,
Donnu, xejn ma jrid jiċċaqlaq.

Feriti ifferoċjati bil-melħ,
Kruċjati, bla ebda sens ta’ ferħ.
U l-imħabba għal proxxmu -
Dik x’sar minnha?
Issa sibna x-xoqqa f’moxta;
Ħlifna, bit-tarf ta’ din il-pinna,
Naslu għal verità, naraw x’insarrfu minnha.

Allura, x’inhi din il-verità?
Qiegħed nassumi li hekk qegħdin tistaqsu.
M’hemmx dibattitu, ir-realtà turik,
Kollox f’ħinu, kollox f’waqtu.
Ir-risposta tiegħi hija din;
Tlifna kull sens ta’ valur,
Tlifna kull sens ta’ twemmin.

M’għadniex nemmu fil-valur tal-ħajja ta’ kullħadd.
M’għadniex nemmnu li kull azzjoni għanda impatt.
Nemmu li aħna progressivi, u Ewropej;
Jekk vera nemmnu hekk,
Lesti nħallsu għall-eċċessi u d-dejn?
Mhux dejn fiskali, iżda dejn immortali,
Id-dejn tad-demm li xxerred,
Dejn is-sudditti, dejn l-iskjavi.

In fatti, is-superjorità materjali ġejja minn hekk;
Mill-gwerer tas-slaten, u l-gideb ta’ dawn tal-ġlekk.
Daħħalna xafra disa’ pulzieri ‘il ġewwa,
Biex imbagħad ħriġniha sitta ‘il barra;
Ta’ parsi għandna l-ugwaljanza,
Għax issa jsawtuk xorta, iżda b’aktar ħlewwa.

Qabel, kellna l-ktajjen u l-forza brutali.
Issa, għandna l-kuntratti, u l-kodiċi penali,
Bil-banek jirrenjaw,
Bil-gvernijiet korporazzjonijiet statali.
Mhux ha nitlobkom temmnuni -
Nitlobkom biss teżaminaw il-fatti.
M’għandix spag x’jiġbduli;
Il-kuxjenza nadifa,
U m’għandix gideb x’ngħatti.

_______

’Open wounds’

Open wounds;
They aren’t closing.
Nations should be united,
But we are far apart,
Seems like nothing wants to budge.

Wounds, seasoned with salt,
Crucibles, with no sense of joy.
And, about that love for one’s fellow man -
What happened to that?
Now, we’ve found the perfect moment;
We’ve sworn, with the tip of this pen,
(that) We’ll get to the truth,
See what we can make of it.

So; what is the truth?
I am assuming that’s what you’re asking.
There’s no debate, reality shows you,
In due time and place, in the right moment.
My answer is this -
We’ve lost all our sense of valour,
We’ve lost all our sense of belief.

We no longer believe in the value of everyone’s life.
We no longer believe every action impacts others.
We believe that we are progressive, and European;
If we do believe that,
Are we ready to pay back our excesses and debts?
This is not fiscal debt, but rather an immortal one,
The debt of the blood that has been shed,
The debt of subjects and slaves.

In fact, material superiority stems from this;
From the wars of lords and the lies of the suits.
We’ve pushed a blade nine inches inward,
And pushed it six inches outward;
Pretending we have equality,
Just because now, they’ll still beat you, but more sweetly, more subtly.

Before, we had chains and brute force.
Now, we have contracts, and the penal code,
With banks reigning supreme,
With governments who are now state corporations.
I am not asking you to believe me -
I am asking you to examine the facts.
I have no strings, none that can be pulled;
My conscience is clean,
And I have no lies to cover up.
Dedicated to a nation full of crooks and *******.
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