On the dry land,
By the wet sand,
Looking out at the sea,
From where I stand,
At the ocean blue,
So vast and true,
As my dog runs through,
The rock pools to,
A destination she never knew,
Existed until now

The gulls make their way,
Under skies of grey,
To far off shores,
And to distant bays,
As wind howls round,
And rain falls down,
To darken ground,
Of viridian green and earthy brown,
There's not a soul around,
Except us two

And so we walk,
My dog and me,
From the farm,
And to the sea,
Then back again up cliff and hill,
Up the road and up yet still,
We plod and trudge and make our way,
Back to base to plan our day,
Because after all the walking's done,
The morning's really only just begun.

Does it matter that I exist?
Somewhere beyond hope,
Where the air hangs thin.

Does it matter? When I hide myself
behind a mask
and that mask
inside a box
and that box in a shadow
too dark to be found,
Or noticed?

Does it matter that I wait
a torn canvas in the rain?
Waiting for the brush to hit home and hit hard.
So numb I forget to feel the pain.

Does it matter? When the wounds have healed and you’ve moved on.
But the scars remain.
Name forgotten,
I don’t have to pretend.
The cracked eyes and whisky smile hide who I am.

Early morning and the head is pounding,
The unwelcome taste of something strong,
Dancing at the back of the throat,
Sit up, stand up, sit back down,
Vision spinning one way and stomach the other,
Staring into the mirror at a depressing cocktail,
Of two parts painkillers and one part regret,
And don’t hold back on the ice

Then it hits,
An acidic burning shooting up the throat,
As a black poison is spewed into the sink,
Only to wash away leaving a foul stench and worse taste,
Coughing and swearing,
Head in hands,
The age old lie muttered through tight lips,
“Never again...”

He watches the world through tear streaked eyes,
At the people just living their lives,
There was no one who cared or was even aware,
That their society was founded on lies,
It was the cruelty of man to man's fellow man,
That caused his young heart to break,
It filled him with sorrow to learn that tomorrow,
There was no difference or change he could make.

First there's the teen with no hopes or dreams,
Who holds the gun to his head,
If only we had heard that four letter word,
"Help" and he might not be dead,
But parents ignore a child's implore,
Move along there is nothing to see,
Then comes the day when he's taken away,
Pushed over the edge by the bully.

The starving young pup who lies all beaten up,
By the teenagers too cool for school,
They've come to learn that next it's their turn,
Drunk fathers are awfully cruel,
Or perhaps the poor homeless just hoping for kindness,
And ends up completely ignored,
We can grumble and shout from our comfy warm house,
That most likely, they're all just big frauds.

Then there comes war the thing all Governments adore,
They can line up their pockets with gold,
The war against terror? Or just the oil endeavour?
It doesn't matter soldiers do as they're told,
"An air strike for peace" is the press release,
As civilians are rained on by bombs,
Can they really believe that what's been achieved,
Is greater than the innocent lives that are gone?

He watches the world through tear streaked eyes,
At the people just living their lives,
There was no one who cared or was even aware,
That their society was founded on lies.

What is love?
I thought to myself as I watched a couple in the park,
I know it's a feeling that is felt by most,
On the heart is where it leaves it's mark,

But where did it come from? Why is it here?
And when will I get my turn?
To experience this brilliant addiction to bliss,
Is there something I've missed or not learned?

For I have yet to feel such a thing,
As happiness in the arms of another,
But I have seen the remains when disaster has struck,
And torn all their dreams asunder,

I have seen a lone soul,
Under its passionless control,
Who has climbed to the top of his tower,
And took one small step to come plummeting down,
At the end of his final hour,

So what is this love?
This beautiful white dove,
Well for now I cannot say,
But perhaps there's a time when love will be mine,
Someone, somewhere, someday,

I am tired of nothing and of existing in shade,
Bored with being alone,
Because surely the sorrow, the grief and the pain,
Are worth the incredibly high,
And maybe one day I too will find,
Myself balancing right on the edge,
As I tip over I'll use my last draw of breath,
To say that final 'goodbye'.