Sometimes I catch sight of you
out of the corner of my mind
A ghost from recent past
I fought so hard to leave behind

And sometimes I catch your perfume
on a breeze that isn’t there
And so no matter what I try
I must accept that I still care

But the memory I long for
the apparition of my choice
is the one that never comes
will I never hear your voice

To hear your voice just one more time
know it’s my name that you said
would prove to me that I’m alive
although so much of me is dead

I wonder if you’re haunted
by what was and still can be
By the choices that you made
and if your ghosts look just like me

And in the morning I shall wake alone
as always is the case
midst memories of dreams that saw
my arm about your waist

Of time spent with each other
holding hands along the beach
memories of dreams so vivid
makes them seem within my reach

Of simple things and better things
than currently we know
Dreams of time spent as a family
choosing together where to go

Of romantic surprise dinners
and things that now seem so mundane
Such is the tapestry of dreams I have
all of which are in your name

But in the morning I shall wake alone
not see your face nor hear your voice
For reality is not the dream
There you made a different choice

I find myself standing in a darkened corridor unsure of which way to go.

In one direction is my past, the other my future.

Yet from this point both look identical.

Both dimly lit and devoid of anything resembling purpose or accomplishment

There is silence but for the ticking of a clock.

The rhythm is steady and the sound deep. Mechanical in nature, like the tick of a real clock with springs and jewels and weights.

There is comfort in that, but also the realisation that proper clocks run down, and eventually stop, unless tended to.

But I know not in which direction the clock lies.

But shouldn’t there be more than this. Shouldn’t there be music, conversation, even voices from my past to remind me from whence I came? No? Then at least voices from my future to guide me forward to my destiny, surely I should know which way to go? What happened to the laughter? There was laughter in my past, and music and dancing and good times. Were they really so far back that all they are now are memories, silent memories?

But there is nothing. The torches on the wall are almost burned out and barely cast enough light for me to see where I am in this life right now, certainly not where I have been nor where I am going.

And so I sit here alone in the darkness.

I didn’t even make it to a crossroads in my life. I got turned around so often that I no longer know which way is up, or at least forward.

My biggest fear is that I will go in the wrong direction, repeat the mistakes of my past, encounter those demons I thought I had left behind and once again suffer all that pain. I barely made it through first time, I don’t think I could do it again.

I need help. maybe I have done for a while, maybe I should have seen this a long time ago, but nobody likes to admit they got it wrong, they failed.

I need a something to show me which way the clock lies, before it runs down, and stops.

The world can be a painful place
when its all so far away
perhaps a hermits life is better
as close to home you always stay

If you do not gaze on foreign shores
will you still desire to roam?
Is it possible that happiness
can be found so close to home

If you do not see the beauty
that lives in foreign lands
Will your spirit find its soul mate
amongst those closer to hand

Ignorance is bliss they say
and while that may not be true
Disappointment comes with pain
that is harder to undo

Each day I rise when needed
and do the things that I must do
But the hours pass in dusky grey
until I hear from you

Your words create a sunrise
that I alone can see
and briefly I feel special
and that there is hope for me

So many times I taste the bitter pill
of disappointment and regret
Your kindness, love and friendship
reminds me life’s not over yet

And yet with all the words I have
I know not where to start
to show you just how deeply
you dwell within my heart

If we were to stand together
in my eyes you’d plainly see
all the things I cannot tell you
about just what you are to me

As even in the darkest night
starless, black as coal
thoughts of you are fireworks
casting rainbows on my soul

Try as I might I can’t deny
the way you make me feel
As much as I try and fight it
this feeling is all too real

And though our lips have never touched
and most likely never will
You have stirred in me a yearning
for which there’s no cure or pill

There must be lesson here somewhere
or is it all some cruel joke
Two kindred spirits kept apart
in the dark of fading hope

But perhaps the lesson is patience
then again perhaps its not
But if the lesson is disappointment
that’s a badge I’ve already got

I wanted to write a poem about peace
but I was too angry
I wanted to write a poem about love
but my passion was elsewhere
I wanted to write a poem about freedom
but there was nothing to stop me
Just as there is nothing to stop you
But you wont
You would rather write about hate
About how people shouldn't be allowed to say that because its not nice and its not respectful and it offends you
But you don't say "they"
because you don't know who they are
You don't say their names
because you can't be bothered to find out
You identify them by their religion
because of the clothes they wear
You identify them by their race
because of the colour of their skin
You took a handful of people and used them to taint almost a quarter of the worlds population.
Congratulations.
And now your words are circling the globe, spreading hate and intolerance while at the same time spreading their message, and so it begins.
The spiral of hatred and terror and fear and mistrust that ends with some young Arab kid kicked to death on the streets of London "cos he looks like a Muslim". The same spiral of hatred and terror and fear and mistrust that ends with a young Muslim walking into a market in Baghdad and killing hundreds as he martyrs himself to defend his home against the invading infidels.
And the only thing that's changed is the body count
The only thing that's changed is the number of mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters and sons and daughters who will have one more reason to cry on this day and mourn their dead while others protest the loss of theirs.
And so it goes on.

If only it had been my words that had circled the earth first and not yours, we may have learned something actually worth learning.

If you really want to stop the killing and the dying and the mourning and the protests that offend you so much, copy and paste THIS and show the world there are still those that can think for themselves, that there is still hope.