“Who are you?”
asked the mighty King,
As he watched the man
Kneel before him naked and in chains.

“I am what you might have been”
said the man.
“And what is that, may I ask?”
“I am a man free of obligation,
Free to walk about the country,
Without question,
Free to dance naked in the street”

“How are you able to do these things
What of your chains?”
enquired the king.
“It is because of these chains
That I have been given the opportunity
To do what I do”
answered the man
“I used to be like you;
A powerful monarch
Reigning over all that I saw before me”

The king thought for a while
And then he smiled
“I know what to do.
I shall free you from your chains
And allow you to continue as you always done”

“And what of you?” asked the man.
“I shall continue to do what I have always done” replied the king
“And what is that?”
“My duty”

“Would you not prefer to live like me?”
The king looked down at the man
As his chains were taken from him
“Too many questions” he said
“You are free  - go!”

I WOKE TO THE SMELL OF ROSES
IT WAS SUNDAY
I WONDERED IF I WAS DEAD
AND THEN I BEGAN TO PRAY
NOT TO GOD OR ANY OTHER RELIGIOUS SYMBOL
BUT TO MYSELF    
FOR THAT IS WHERE THE TRUTH LIES
DEEP IN MY HEART
COVERED UP LIES, DECEIT AND ANGER
I PICK UP EACH ROTTING FRAGMENT
AND CAST IT TO ONE SIDE
SLOWLY AS I REVEAL MYSELF
THE VEIL LIFTS FROM MY EYES
I SEE A GLIMPSE, ONLY A GLIMPSE
OF THE TRUTH
NOW IT IS UP TO ME
TO DISCOVER
WHO I REALLY AM
ONLY THEN
WILL I DESERVE ANYONE’S LOVE
IT WOULD BE BEST IF IT WAS NEVER GIVEN OR SOUGHT
Because there are more worthwhile battles to be fought

Dressed in green and black,
The wool was soft
The colour, strong and vibrant,
Broken by a line of pearl-white buttons
From neck to waist
Fastened one by one,
Twixt finger and thumb.
The rest was black as the coal
Hewn deep under the earth,
Trousers, shoes, fingernails and hair,
And eyes, shining
Like dark hedonistic candles
From a clear, clean face.
I knew a girl who lived in Sheffield –
A city of factoring and steel.
(Do they still make knives and forks there?)
- a short distance from the Derbyshire woods,
Where once we walked
On blankets of moss and fallen leaves
One Autumn years ago,
Many years.
And now, as another Autumn approaches,
Here you are,
Dressed in green and black.

I am sorry that I surprised you
But at the time I did not know
That you were one of them;
I did not know.

It may have been in my head,
This piece of information
But not yet in the right place
For dissemination.

This seems like a lame excuse;
It is not indeed to be,
My mind is struggling too,
Struggling to be free.

I am sorry that you were hurt
But glad you walked away.
It meant that in spite of it all,
You enjoyed a better day

It meant that you were further from me
But perhaps you did not care,
Perhaps it was a part of me
You were not eager to share.

I am sorry I surprised you,
I think I did not know
That you were one of them,
I did not know.

Oh, deep, dark night,
I have welcomed you as a friend;
Now you turn against me
With all your imperious power.
What have I done to deserve this torment?
Nothing.
A seed sown at birth
Is now in full bloom.
My country,
My country.
I touched your back
And remembered how it feels to hold you,
So comfortable.
So sure.
Now I couldn’t hold a feather,
Now I dribble **** down my legs,
Now I walk like an old man,
Now I can hardly write these miserable words.
No wonder you talk of former lovers,
A group of which I am now a member.
I am going to fight it all the way.
Oh deep dark night,
Let battle commence!

We meet in the night
And we talk of this and that,
Of people’s voices in the street,
Of such things we talk when we meet.

How fortunate we are to meet like this;
How blessed to have the company
Of someone whom we hold so dear,
Of someone whose loss it would be hard to bear.

Perhaps that is the deal we have to make
When we find true love;
Someone to meet, to love, to talk to, to lose
That is me and that is you.

We met once in the night
And we talked of this and that.
We were the voices in the street
How lucky we are to talk and meet.

We talked for an hour,
She had a single tear below her eye
She wasn’t sad but astute
As she asked what and why

We were the pugilists,
She the referee,
It was no tear but a blemish,
An old injury.

I listened to you both,
Expressing your views,
And, in my silence,
I examined your shoes.

Then it was my turn;
I spoke what was true.
It was the truth I spoke
To her and to you.

Then our time was over,
No more debate,
No more apologizing in advance,
No more to relate.

So we stepped into tomorrow,
Now sure of what to do
And, look, I - I have fallen in love again
Unfortunately for you.