Solace is a cold and twisted mistress,
her touch is often empty: without love;
yet in her presence, I am rendered helpless
and thus I sit atop my house above.
My lover, with her lifeless, pale demeanour
just sits beside my hollow, broken shell,
the vision of the crystal sea beneath her:
my only comfort here within my cell.

Solace is a memory etched in darkness,
as if no words were written in a book;
although I know the sky above is starless
against my will she forces me to look.
I think of times I’d spend the whole day wishing,
I’d ponder on my future and my fate;
and now it’s for these memories I’m fishing
with nothing but my hopes and dreams as bait.

Solace is a stern, relentless teacher,
reality: her lesson taught in full;
a feral, vicious, unforgiving creature,
on the reigns of honesty she’ll pull.
And so I sit upon my house in heaven
with Solace, my companion and my friend;
I’ll fish until my soul begins to leaden,
until the sands of time come to an end.

Is passion merely state of mind
or is it simply skill?
Could passion truly be the kind
of feeling that can ****?
A noble soldier: strong and pure;
does passion fill his heart?
Does passion sail a gentler shore:
a painter’s love for art?

Emotions soar like shooting stars:
they flicker, shine, then burn;
can passion cover up the scars
and let the light return?
Can passion offer strength to stand
against your gravest fear?
Extend a loving, helpful hand
when failure seems so near?

A heartfelt whisper in the night:
the will to bear the pain;
does passion grant the strength to fight:
the will to break the chain?
To clear the path: unlock the door;
is passion but the key?
Question life and love no more;
just be all you can be.

As moments pass and seasons end
your targets are in range;
passion is your closest friend
now fight to make the change.

I remember when we were but children:
all the laughter we shared; all the glee,
I remember how life was so easy
and our souls were so eager and free.
I remember the scent of the flowers:
how their fragrance reminds me of you,
I remember the words that were spoken;
every sentence we formed being true.

I remember our teenage obsessions:
all the letters of love that we wrote,
I remember our fleeting emotions
and the kiss at the end of each note.
I remember us watching those movies;
every story we’d witness unfold,
I remember the nights in the moonlight
and all of the secrets we told.

I remember our school graduation:
the beauty that shone from your face,
I remember the lives we’d been planning
and the hope that they’d truly take place.
I remember the deep conversations;
how we knew that we’d go separate ways,
I remember the path we had taken
as the seconds turned slowly to days.

I remember the years passing swiftly:
each day sharing much more than a bed,
I remember the ring that I bought you
and each thought as it passed through my head.
I remember the day, time and minute
that I crouched before you on one knee,
I remember the tear slowly falling
as you said that you would marry me.

I remember our wedding: so perfect,
with your dress laced in satin and silk;
I remember my nervous position
in the view of your family and ilk.
I remember your eyes: how they glistened
as we whispered those words “yes I do”;
I remember the joy I was feeling
when I realised my life was with you.

I remember the news of your illness:
how the children would smile as they wept,
I remember your strength never wavered
but you’d cry when we lay and we slept.
I remember your fear during treatment
and the tears as your hair slowly fell;
I remember your dreaming of heaven
whilst living and enduring hell.

I remember you saying you loved me
as your strength slowly wilted away,
I remember the moments we’d lived through
and begged you to hold me: to stay.
I remember the three words you whispered
as you slipped to the heavens above;
I’ll remember forever and always
for you were my only: my love.

I sink, so deeply, in my chair
and spend a while, without a care;
I ponder, just a moment, in the silence.
For life, it seems, is long and dark
yet in the night, I find a spark:
a gentle hand to offer love and guidance.
I gaze across my darkened room:
a barren, foul, yet peaceful tomb,
in search of something close to inspiration;
a whiskey bottle to my left,
a broken heart deprived of rest:
a dangerous, yet perfect combination.

I take a glass and start to pour
in hope I’ll feel this pain no more,
I grab a pen and search for scraps of paper;
the alcohol begins to flow,
my tree of thought begins to grow;
until the branches start to thin; to taper.
I suddenly begin to see,
it all begins to dawn on me:
this liquid holds the key to my salvation;
my mind is filled: it’s fit to burst!
I need to drink, to quench this thirst;
I need to cure my mental dehydration.

Ideas and words come flooding in,
the sights, the sounds: a joyful din;
is this the closest that I’ll be to heaven?
The pieces, they just seem to click
but now my head is feeling thick,
for one glass swiftly rose to almost seven.
My barren tomb begins to shake,
my concentration starts to break;
it seems that I am losing my conviction,
I slumber in my chair once more,
tomorrow it may be the floor;
for I cannot control this cruel addiction.

As silence fills my bedroom, and darkness takes its hold;
I find that I am unable to sleep,
a fire inside me cinders: a story must be told;
the task laid out before me: ever steep.

I search this darkened bedroom and find my old guitar,
I wipe away her tears: caress her strings;
I stare outside my window and focus on a star
and all the inspiration that it brings.

At first the feeling’s gentle, but shortly comes the rush:
with every note I play the feeling grows,
the melody surrounds me: a tender, soothing touch;
the blessing known as peace the tune bestows.

The music: ever faster; my heart is not the same,
my passion and my soul: they both ignite;
for music is a bonfire and lyrics are the flame:
my six string flame has carried me tonight.