I used to think the swans would live
Until the world no longer spun.
And that they could live forever and a day
And bask out in the sun.
Even the ugly duckling; who soon learnt his fate,
Doesn't have an end or a sell-by date.

Now, as we know, things come and go.
And beauty fades and falls.
But I used to believe that swans could go
And out live us all.

I see white feathers, of purity and of clean.
And I watch them move so graceful and ever so serene.
The swans, they dance and glide across the lake's wide top.
And will always do so, even when my heart stops.

Where do swans go to die?
I hear my teacher ask.
I don't really know, I replied.
I never thought to ask.
But I wish to see a dead one, just to believe that it can be so.
But I don't think I could cope with that, if one died near me though.

Swans can't die, I tell myself as I sit here by the lake...

The lake that holds no movement
For all the swans have gone.
But I do not understand,
What in their life went wrong.

Where do swans go to die?
A better place, I bet.
But in the next life, with those swans,
How much better could it get?

I can see the ***** glass that is sitting on my sill.
All its moulding contents, look dying, dead or ill.
And the grime along the edge,
Of which seems quite foisty
Seems to be crawling
Closer. Simply just to meet me.  

I can hear the cries of every rotting, little beastie.
Every shout, every whisper. All sung so sweetly.
And the pleas for a saviour
All of which are futile,
Seem to be crawling
Closer. Simply just to meet me.

I can smell the corpses of the dead, old and new.
Soon one day, those corpses could be either me or you.
Then we pray for a saviour,
As Death draws near and close, He
Seems to be crawling
Closer. Simply just to meet me.

I can feel the dust that covers my skin and my clothes.
Although it has not been long, my time is getting old.
As I begin to decay
And my mind is not my own. They
Seem to be crawling
Closer. Simply just to meet me.

I can taste the bitterness from that glass on my sill.
I was wrong, it’s not the contents, but I, who is ill.
Life goes and life comes but He
Remains. Death still walks the Earth.
As it seems to be crawling. Moving.
Surrounding me. Simply just to keep me.

I am a lost cause.
Destined to sail alone.
Far away from land and home.
I have no crew, no ship nor sail.
Have you tried being in water
With no raft or a tail?

I am splashing.
And splashing is fun.
Though, I’d much rather play with a knife or a gun.
Then, life would end quickly.
And my problems would go.
Luckily, there is no one to miss me.

I wish I was drowning,
Out here in the sea.
I wish you were here, so I could drown you with me.
I’d use all my weight, to pull you down deeper.
And who would say, ‘Hello’
But our dear friend, The Reaper.

I am sinking.
The ocean is life’s salty sting.
Even in quiet, my ears still ring.
And the pressure is building, it’s crushing my skull.
Oh, the misery life was
Even when lived to the full.

I am a lost cause.
You won’t find me now.
I am buried deep, deep in the ground.
My bones were stripped of flesh and of life.
Life never changing, never moving, but now I am home.
With Death, my wife.

Eight years old,
Every day at school,
I get kicked and pushed around.
Too many times my face has hit the ground.
But I get up and laugh it off
But when I got home I cried.

Twelve years old,
Each day at home,
And mum has left dad now.
Too many arguments, too many rows.
But I go on, pretend I don’t care.
But when I’m alone, I cry.

Sixteen years old,
Every day at school,
And she left me for that *******, Josh
Just because he’s got money and he’s posh.
But I go on, with a smile on my face.
But when I see her, I cry.

Twenty-one now,
I’ve got my degree,
With knowledge in my hands.
No one there to congratulate me,
How much neglect can one man stand?
But I go home and put a note on the fridge
About how Josh’s mum cried.

Twenty-eight years old,
And I’m happy,
Got the girl of my dreams by my side,
A ring in my coat pocket, a surprise, I’m trying to hide.
I’m down on one knee
And when she says yes,
She cries.

Thirty-six years old,
She left me,
Took the kids with her too.
She didn’t hear me say, ‘But I still love you.’
But she did not love me anymore
And in the kitchen I cried.

Forty-five, overweight.
Nothing in my life to live for,
Daughter-hates me. My son thinks I’m a ****.
I’m tired of life, beating me with a stick.
But I must stay strong around people.
But when no one’s around, I cry.

Sixty-five and nothing’s changed.
No wife, no friends, no hope.
The only difference is, I’m balding.
And with no one around, I get no scolding.
But I wish to be shouted at, any interaction would be nice.
But in the limelight of the television,
As I sit alone. No future in my vision,
I close my eyes, and I wish to finally die.

The seasons have always thrilled me.
In a way I can’t explain.
How in England, sleet will lash down,
But sun will shine in Spain.

Now, I know that’s weather I’ve just discussed
And I know that climates differ.
But I find it odd
That the cold can make leaves stiffer.

Let’s start with Spring.
A time of life, a time of rebirth.
You can’t deny it’s beautiful,
Watching flowers sprout from the earth.

And Summer-time is lovely,
With the beach and the sun.
I can’t think of a better time
To have some outdoor fun.

Unfortunately, things come and go
And things start to die in Autumn.
But you can see the carcass of a tree.
It’s just nature in post-mortem.

Now, Winter is cold and chilly.
And you may get blankets of snow.
But the cold doesn’t matter,
When you have your own blankets, by a fire with its glow.
Each year, there is a cycle,
That moves from one month to the next.
But wouldn’t it be interesting if it all changed.
Like if the seasons had been hexed.

What if when Autumn come,
The sun came out and drove away the rain.
And once Summer came around once more.
Sheets of snow gave short and vested people pain.

The weather is unpredictable.
And should never be taken lightly.
And you never know if sun, rain
Or by God, thunder, will come day or nightly.

I took a hearse to prom.
Not the most conventional way at all.
Not the sort of carriage a prince
Should take to a ball.
My chauffeur drove me.
He was dressed in black.
I suppose a hearse is better
Than my mum’s old Cadillac.

I drove alone to prom.
Said I’d meet my date there.
Besides, she’d be late with all
Her make-up and her hair.
I just had to suit up
And get my tie to sit real still.
Then my father looked me over,
And said; ‘I think you fit the bill.’

So I sat in anticipation
As I drove there to the prom.
But who’d have thought in two minutes
Everything would go wrong.
My father’s an alcoholic, see.
As was my chauffeur.
Because they are the same man.
The man who drove the hearse.