there's so much dust in me,
dusk, and the rust,
lust and the dusk in me,
to set me alight, on fire-

so much smoke and
cold and loneliness,
the seething emptiness,
and the hollow mornings;
for the sun to rise-

the hurt in me,
always hurting me-

the words in me,
never in the right sequence
or picture;

the elegance to be,
to be, or not-
a million years of
evolution and scriptures;

mixture of chaos,
and visitors;
with their pain,
with their home,

with their bombs,
and with their gones

bones and skeletons,
sharks and teeth;

seeds and forests,
just ready to burn;
to set me alight, on fire.

somebody save me,
have me; love me;
tell me i'm living for something,

hold me, unfold me;
it's cold and lonely
by myself; tell somebody
to solve me, dissolve me
into pieces and find me
before i make a castle with
no doors or windows,

inhale walls and fences,
to fail my days for empty nights,

to sail on sand, in search
of an ocean, that bled
when i pulled out my broken heart;

take me and give me up
to the waves, as i age;
before any realisation,

give me a page and let me
be lost at the sea,
miles away from any
civilization.

my breath is blue
cold and forgettable
in this dark room
and with my eyes closed
composed of a mind
and all its follies,
that I cannot switch off;

i am lost, yes,
bless'd with a life
i never would have
known otherwise,

of minutes, mountains and
stones, wise men; a home
and sun rise,

here on this rock
me and so many like me
will die, pretending we
never would,

consuming blood and wood
even burning the forest down
'tis his kingdom, filled with
people bad and good,

some mad and filled with
scars and broken days
then there's that who
has no need for a place,
some wear stars and some
wear no face, some are meant
to die, some meant to stay

some go away never to
come back, some find
grey days soothing as they
pass by, some live
in good-byes, and some dye
themselves, some don't cry,

some won't die, and we'd
watch them live forever,
whilst we break our lies,

i live the lies too, yes,
but that's more bless'd, in
this storm of illusion,
outside this dark room
where i bleed away bits of
me, everytime i step out,

loud noises and the clock,
to break me down,

silence louder than words,
empty air for me to drown
trapped in a circle 'round
my neck,

eyes to dream me a crown,
and a mind for the countless
worthless things i've found
gagged and bound,
in the deepest layers
miles deeper than my skin
sinking, and inking my
breath blue.

it's cold and lonely as I look outside at the rain falling down from the sky; darker than the eyes reflecting at the middle of the cracked window.

it's so lonely, I am so lonely, the voices keep repeating inside my head, over and over again, as if a forgotten jingle has taken a life of its own.

I don't feel lonely now, I feel afraid; when will the voices stop calling my name ?

when will I be just nothing ?

silence speaks louder than any broken heart screaming; for whatever it's worth, I've always found chaos to be very comforting. it soothes my scars and gives my mind something to think about, something other than this cold lonely hour I cannot tick off the clock.

I wonder where people are right now, so many people doing so many different things in so many different places around the world, it's breath taking and so mundane at the same time, to think about how fragile my own existence is, and how much I crave what doesn't exists at all.

how do you explain what you feel when you feel everything and nothing ?

how do you survive in a perfectly boring equilibrium whilst being ripped apart by the extremes waging war inside of you ?

how do you explain to them how much you want to talk about absolutely nothing ?


the light is flickering inside the room and it's making me drowsy, I don't know if I'm on anything or not right now, for lately it has been so hard for me to tell reality from hallucination, wisdom from fiction, and monsters from me.

I feel as if I'm always floating just inches away from drowning, but miles away from dying, thinking about life and death, and all the felonies they bring with themselves.

maybe life, and death are just people, people like me and maybe people like you, maybe there's a man in the sky and a woman out there to fall in love with me, a love that's pure, to make a religion that's holy and divine, and as magical as any fairytale there ever was.

the clock is finally ticking, and I can feel it moving in the wrong direction, I want to speak and tell it how wrong it is, I want to scream and let it know that I know better but I am paralysed, from eyes and up, and I don't know if I can move my arms or wipe away the tears, I'm too afraid to even try.

maybe the man on the other side of the window can help me, he looks familiar but I've forgotten his name, there's somebody in his eyes, and I think I remember that face too, but he looks much older than what I think he used to be, or maybe I'm just younger.


I don't know why there's a crack just around his lips, what caused it, and the story, the history and poetry behind it; maybe it's there to make him look like an old man with a crooked smile, or perhaps, it just is, without a reason.

reasons scare me, everybody has a reason, or so they think, or so they pretend.

monsters, and ****** and gods and men, strangers, lovers, enemies and friends.

I don't have a reason tonight, or that's what I think.

the clock has stopped ticking, the rain has stopped falling, maybe the sky will be cleared, or not; it never mattered to me anyhow.

I feel as if there's a moment just around the corner, I'm going to pass by and make my home inside of, maybe because I've shed enough hurt, or maybe there's not enough to keep me going, but perhaps it's because every once in a while the glass is half full, rather than being broken and sharp.






it's a tuesday, and it's 3 am, and I don't know if there's going to be any sun tomorrow.

the only thing I'm sure of, is that, I'm not the man on the other side of anything, I'm on this side, here, and now;

and that's all there is to it.

you suffer,
and so, you learn-
talk about stars and lovers,
through scars, and
how they don't burn anymore

dreaming eyes,
dream about the dreadful lies;

the man in the sky,
isn't here sitting besides you-

the woman you pry;
maybe she's slick and sly,
it makes you sick,
and you wonder why ?

maybe it isn't about
love anymore.


the world has summer,
and it had your winter-

autumn withers'
spring too;

and the man in the sky,
he isn't sitting there anymore

the child you could see
in the mirror, died;

he's no more, maybe-
only as much as you are today;

and the bird you
could've freed;

you placed silence by
its side, and a song
on it's beak, so bleak-

bleached by the solemn
good-bye, and a seed,

praying, it becomes a tree,
and not a storm.

standing on a piece of heaven, I crawl-
watching the birds fly to the west, it's so cold,
so many insects in my head, I'm filled with all these walls,
and they remind me how small I am, and so cold.

breathing the winter air, it's everywhere, and now in my lungs,

the snow falls, and the lights go dim, there's so much white, it covers the dark,

I cannot even run, they'll know where I have gone and died,
I cannot see the sun, somewhere on the far side of the mountain it hides-
looking over everything,

I remember a blue lake
beneath a blue sky,

I remember you when I'm awake,
you're always there in my eye,

always here, always to stay,
as the world goes grey, when the sun dies,

and I sit there, on a wooden chair,

caught in the memories by the moments, whispering feelings into a box,
locked on all sides but inside of me,
where it rots, where it stays, where I watch it all, play back and forth,

until it's so cold, it begins to paint the world white,
until i can no longer hold it all together,
until the weather becomes as calm as the moonlight after the storms,
I feel you in my arms, I feel you in my today, I feel you in my tomorrow,

and I swallow the lakes, the mountains, the snow and the stars,
and I follow you into the darkness, at the end of the world, with my never healing broken heart,

and I swallow the white, and I swallow every last drop of snow,
every last sip full of an empty void, and a voice that keeps howling at me,

from the inside, from the lakes, blue skies, the mountains and the scars,

where we'll live forever, until the snow falls,

where we'll love forever, until the spring calls,

I look up, and the snow falls,
I look down, but the snow falls.

It has been seven years since Paddy posted his last poem. I am taking the previlege to bring it back up top. Please read his poems.

Paddy Martin Jan 2011
An Australian Summer Sonnet.
I pray thee sun thou should set,
or take thy leave better yet,
wouldst at last my thirst be gone,
But alas thee linger, and linger on.

There be no flower not yet dead,
no water flows in yonder river bed.
'Tis a heat where nought doth grow,
nor doth thee ever mercy show.

Dry of skin and parch of throat,
a man doth need no overcoat.
Thy rays doth burn mine eyes,
they do not hear mine mercy cries.

If there be a place where chill be found,
'Tis there it be that I be bound,
A place where there be no burning sun,
show it to me, so to it I shall run.

(c) 26th January 2010
with apoligies to all you Shakespeare freaks
I was thinking how Will would have handled our Oz summer heat.