Over their shoulders,
Round their waist,
On their heads,
Painted faces,
Badges, flags, banners,
On display,
Unashamed,
And even in the air,
Resting on the breeze,
Confetti proclaims our song,
Our word,
Our anthem:
Love is love

Toys I haven't seen,
Since I was a normal six year old boy
Who'd play with boy's toys,
Or his sister's.

Songs passed down,
From my parents without meaning,
Their love for them inherited,
So we sang.

Two brought together,
Old friends reunited and up to old tricks,
Making old jokes that now,
I understand.

A union seems so distant,
For a girl like me, perhaps impossible,
But still I can dream,
And make plans.

The night holds terrifying things,
Shadows in shadows,
Sounds with no source,
Not knowing so much worse.
But the night has a beauty,
Found in the absence of colour,
Eyes drawn to different angles,
Different shapes,
Never noticed before,
Reflections never seen,
Except in moonlight,
Dotted with blurred stars.
There's something about stepping forward,
And not quite knowing,
Where your foot will fall,
Or if it will at all,
An excitement?
Fear, certainly, but enough,
Confidence to keep,
Walking through dark.

Chasing a feeling that doesn't exist in reality,
Only in some fantasy,
Some imagined world where things aren't quite perfect,
But they're close enough,
To feel as if it would be worth trying to achieve it,
As if reaching out wouldn't be pointless,
So close to an ideal that it no longer feels impossible,
And of course, the company,
Not perfect people, but right.
The kind of people you pretend to hate,
While loving every second.

Watch again the frames I know,
That take me back an age,
And still every word strikes a familiar bell,
And through its tone I recall
A time when i was different;
When i meant You over me.
A time when i would keep hidden
my thoughts and my fears and my words.
Back then i was not worthy
Of the thoughts in my own head,
Back then i wished i could stop me,
But i was stronger than the me i knew.
So as I sit here watching the same old movie,
Imagining how i would have felt,
I realise that that nostalgic feeling,
Is not just 'remember'
But how i became Me.

Why do my eyes not wish to rest?
At this fading hour,
This dying hour,
Why am I not longing for bed?
Now the hour is almost dead,
And yet still, my eyes protest,
Against abandoning their posts,
Though they have their orders,
They maintain their stubborn watch,
And the hour is slipping away,
Gently, but quickly,
The hour will not stay,
But my eyes will,
They will stay open as long as they can,
As long as willpower is stronger than
The power weakness holds over them.
Why won't you rest?
The hour is but a shadow now,
And now...
No trace,
But my eyes watch,
As the new hour begins.

Inspiration found,
In words once told,
To farmers and beggars,
Long long ago,
Whose lives were much different,
To the one that I've grown,
But they still needed telling,
What we need to know,
So in the words of a teacher,
In days of old,
We're still reaping fruit,
From the seeds that he sowed.

Shared celebration,
National pride,
A victory won on out behalf.
Before our hope had died.

A moment together,
With no real meaning,
But how much we cared,
How long we'd been dreaming.

But now it seems,
That tune is so rare,
No longer a reason,
To throw hands in the air.

But still we believe,
That one day we will,
Be singing those words,
And reliving that thrill.

As days grow long
I make my nights longer
Grabbing at every inch of pointless time

As skies turn blue
I hide inside
To keep away malicious eyes

As pressure fades
I stress myself
Filling my mind with unlikely goals

As night falls
I've failed again
So I sleep with reluctance once more

Run to home
My four walls of white
The comfort and freedom
Of emptiness.

Settle down
In my old wooden bed
Let the memories flow
Ideas fill me.

Write them down
Then close my eyes
And drift from my four walls
To boundless dreams

Must I move?
Here I am safe, happy,
Surrounded by comforts,
No eyes watch me,
The shadows rest where I tell them,
And clothe me when I ask.

Here I bathe in simplicity,
In the arms of convenience,
Beyond the reach of fear,
Outside the influence of pressure,
Why would I leave?
Were it not for duty.

New and old,
They are my commands,
And they must be obeyed.

These words are not what they say,
Beneath their skin lies ****** truth,
Of twisted intent, forced subversion,
Encased in some meaningless shell.

These eyes are not what they seem,
Behind their lenses a world is seen,
With such contempt and such,
Attention to wicked detail.

These hands are not how they feel,
They have reached into souls,
And ripped them to shreds,
In an instant of barbaric honesty.

Demons live in angels,
None are free from dark,
Some can hide from light,
Demons are angels,
When the light
turns
off
.

Unwilling fraud,
******* in lies,
Told to protect myself,
Because the truth disgusts,
My repulsive mind,
Must be hidden,
As best I can.

Who would want a mind full of dirt?
When it could be cleaned with such such ease,
Only torture and force needed,
To wring out the unthinkable,
The untouchable -
How could I be so disturbed,
As to be unique?

Take out the 'dirt' then,
Leave only the 'pure',
And watch how I rot.