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Life to death
are bookends to
our story lived,
Birth to Burial.
 Jan 8 Tyler Austin
lua
there was a moment in time
when death sat beside me on a park bench
and he had rested his hand on the gap between us

i,

too,

rested my hand there
and brushed my fingers against his

and for a chaste moment
i savoured the warmth of his skin
and intertwined my hand with his

but he stood up

and left

and maybe he knew,

it was for the better.
it was the right option
 Apr 2022 Tyler Austin
alexis
I truly over-romanticize
I think about them day and night
And it isn’t wise

Because I know I’m not crossing their mind
So why can’t they leave mine?

The idea of them dances around in my head
From the moment I wake up
To the moment I go to bed

Oh to have my dreams come true
I don’t know what I’d do
If I were to finally be with you
 Sep 2020 Tyler Austin
Harsh
Ever had the feeling of being trapped in a glass box
with the air slowly running out, with every breath?
In sun, rain, snow and storm, the box gets dark or warm
but what you can do always remains the same.
Have you just simply wanted to walk away or break free?
To travel the world taming Lion cubs and petting great white sharks?
To wake up to a sunrise in a Dutch farm and watch it set over the Mediterranean sea?
To teach children in Thailand or India?
To salsa on the streets of Mexico or be blinded by the lights in Dubai?
Have you ever wanted to be border-less?
To not be punished for being born in a country
where the sun is hot and people are poor?
Have you ever just wanted to work, get a place, pay taxes,
and not ignore the growling of your stomach
so your 5 pound takeaway stretches over 3 days
postponing the date to buy the next food stock?
Have you ever wanted to check your bank account
without having your fingers crossed, because
even though you know the exact balance
you hope by some miracle it will be more?
Have you prayed for immigration to back the hell off
leaving you to make a living without risking deportation?
Have you ever got tired of playing by the rules when
the Albanian Mafia and Walmart
makes more money per hour than what you'd make in a lifetime, or two?
With heart aches and emotional games, and
attending Sunday mass becoming more of a cliché,
with rejection and doors closed,
at the cost of owning a brown passport,
with your head spinning and back against the wall,
have you wondered what life wants from you at all?
To all the women being trafficked for ***,
and the children slaving away spinning Persian carpets,
tonight it's too cold to snow outside my glass box.
Inside, it's too sad to cry...
This poem is the sole property of me and cannot be copied or used without permission. [Copyright G.H. Rodrigo 23/02/2013]

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