My lips are stained with your lies
My heart is ash,
blowing wildly in the winds you created
My soul is as black as you've painted the days
I'm void
An empty glass
And you,
You are the cunning devil
Laughing as I fall graceless
Into the flaming darkness of hell

Even
A soft word with the downtrodden
Cures his inner wounds which remain invisible

Went  down  to  the  lake  today.
The  vast  expanse  of  water
shimmering  under  the  baking  sun.
Had  some  food  and  drink
sat  on  a  bench.
The  swans  came  up  from  the
water  begging  for  food.
Truly  amazing  how  they
cope  on  dry  land.
. Slender  legs  supporting
a  bulky  body  mass.
They  certainly  belong  
in  the  water.
Crowds  of  people  about
mainly  Chinese  tourists.
Really  warm  day.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

Being a poet
Changes everything
The way you look and experience
It turns pain into beauty
It breaks down time

It speaks for you when you don't know what to say
It comes at times you can't sit down and write it out
It can keep you awake at night
It may offer you a smile when no one is there to see

Poetry is my outlet
It connects me with others that understand
I have made friends from other lands

When you need someone to talk to
And no one is there
The paper will listen to your pen
And suddenly, you know you aren't that alone again

Poetry has saved me from myself
And it's helped me save others from themselves
It has taught me to take time to really see things
For the truth
To notice the little things that actually matter

Writing poetry is therapy with no judgement
I am writing this to say *thank you

On the clearest of nights,
when the moon is new,
I like to lie on my back
in the grass and dirt.
I'll close my eyes, and
lie there, silent,
feeling the wind roll over me
timing my breathing with
the dance between breeze and grass,
keeping meter with the song they play.
Then, I feel the earth against my back.
I stretch my arms
as   wide   as     I    can...
and, palms down,
I hold the world on my back.
I try to feel the weight of it
on my shoulders.
I think of the size of this
hot ball of rock and water.
I feel the heaviness of
all of its inhabitants.
I feel their slightest vibrations-
baby steps
that move mountains-
shaping the landscape
and changing the destiny of this
ball of dirt.
I feel it living.
At the same time, I feel it dying.
It's an endless cycle
Of beautiful, precious life
in terminal doses.
I think of all this,
behind my back,
on my shoulders,
until I feel that the weight of it all
will surely crush me.
In that moment, I open my eyes
And look up at the clear,
moonless sky, and see
a sea of stars,
burning brighter than normal
as they pierce the darkness,
the illusion of the world on my shoulders.
As I stare into the cosmos,
the reality of this little ball of rock
is lifted from my back.
What was, moments ago,
the heaviest object in the universe,
was now tiny, when set against infinity.
I finally stand, and smile,
having successfully
thrown the planet back into space.