You held my hand,
I thought you cared. 
I held to heart
the first kiss that we shared.

I thought it was 
the start of we 
but found instead 
it was only ever me.

You dangled me
just like a piece of string
until I realised
'twas just a one way fling.

It seems I didn't know 
what love could do. 
Could really build you up
then break your heart in two.

As I watched you
just walking bye
I never said a word,
I couldn't even try.

You held anothers hand 
but looked straight into my eyes.
My mind was screaming out
with such complete surprise.

I stood and watched you
walking with that guy.
My heart was dying there 
I knew no reason why.

I don't know what I did. 
I knew not what to say
so I stood quietly
and watched you walk away.

You must have thought that it's
ok for being cruel.
You left that young boy
feeling like a fool.

So tearful and alone
he learned his lesson then
and made himself a promise
that not ever again.

He'd always be alone 
and that was just the start.      
He'd never love again.
He'd never share his heart.

They found his body 
on that empty railway track.
The train had took his life,
he's never coming back.

A piece of paper found
just after he did die
just read a single word
and that word was, Why?

Searching through the archives
of - my family tree.
Struggling through the mislaid vaults
of ge-ne-ology.

Personal contemplation
on what might come to light.
With so much work before me.
I study through the night.

Lines that take me nowhere
all scramble through your head
but curiosity pushes you
as you study - the 'long' dead.

Suddenly things come to a light,
new relation leads
that push you through the lonely night
and sow so many seeds.

Will it be - Maud Plantaginet
who'll set me to the stars
a Sir, an Earl or Baroness
all Great Grandpa's or Ma's.

A close link to a Tudor King
of whom it's often said
that if he doesn't fancy you,
you could well lose your head.

Henry Three, Henry Two,
King John and Henry One.
Many times Great-Granddads
and the list - goes on and on.

William the Con-queror
and someone very quaint,
Ma-tilda Von Ringelheim,
she's an - Eigth Century Saint.

Has all the work been paying off?
Will the journey - be of worth?
For who knows who - we're related too
who has also walked this earth

Acid rain leaves the scene.
Steam rises, hovering the ground,
floating knee high,
almost in effort to hide the effects
of the toxic downpour.
Hissing puddles.
Bubbling
Acid.
Draining dangerously into water supplies.
Grasses amputated,
stumps of burnt,
singed bushes remain.
Agonized souls,
each bubbling and spitting.
Oozing raw wounds smoulder
dripping this greasy substance.
Body parts akimbo.
Torso’s scattered,
strewn over the horizon.
One would not know which part
came from which body.  
Showered
with
acid
rain
as they ran.
Heaped into inhuman piles
as they fell.
Mounds of smouldering beacons,
self stacked
as they had fallen in their rush to escape.
Erosion takes its toll.
Gouged and hollowed
like the wood of an
antiquated ship-wreck.
Eyes glowing
like small Planets
in a universal darkness.
Bones emerge
through the nooks and crannies
of this protruding skeleton.
After the storm
they slowly started to creep out
from their hiding places
but mostly all staying in the shaded
covered areas.
This storm past
until the next.
However did we
allow this to happen?
Is this
the End?

Knees buckled under his huge frame.
Words emerging from the man in red were
inaudible, indistinct
unable to focus or navigate direction,
incapable to comprehend
or follow verbal instruction.
In spite of the instruction
the little man still contributed.

“Simon Michael”

Words wafted around the courtroom,
unfamilier, verilly a different language.
He felt like one would who was
surrounded by a foreign tongue.
He could not comprehend,
grasp the meaning of this slow motion droning.
He could however see the time.

The clock on the kitchen wall.
Twelve minutes past three.
He was heading outside,
escaping,
he had to get away from her.

Perpetual
Constant
Bellowing
On and on and on and on.

Arms raised
for protection
from constant
slapping and punching.

At thirteen minutes past three
she lay in a crumpled heap
on the hard stone tiles
of the cold kitchen floor.
Her face was split in two
encircled in graduating crimson.

One minute to change a life.
One minute victim,
now, Assassin.
One minute of blind anger
and a life taken!

“You will be taken from here
to a place of execution.
You will be hung by the neck
until you are dead.”