I dreamt that I'd tell you,
  I dreamt I'd convince you.
I dreamt you would love me
and I too would love you.
I dreamt of perfection,
a dream so romantic.
I dreamt you would smile
and carefully panic.
I dreamt you would hug me.
  I dreamt we would both see,
together we're better -
  I dreamt you weren't choosy.
I dreamt up the ways
of how I could tell you.
I dreamt up bouquets
and a time and place too.
I dreamt that I told you.
  I dreamt that I could do.
I dreamt that it happened.
  I dreamt of a breakthrough.

instead i told you
at 3am   drunk   on facebook
*and i took it back the next morning

We're standing outside in a cold, blistered wind,
for a quick pull of smoke and the chemicals within?
A quick rush of joy, euphoric train wreck,
a cure made illegal for a chemist's blank cheque.
Plant matter burning, charring my lungs,
an irritated throat and a cough soon to come.
Pass it to a friend and beg them to be quick
so I can burn my lungs again - let my blood run thick.
Serotonin chained and forced to make me feel good,
yet a non-addictive substance, apt misunderstood.
Less harmful than tobacco, alcohol still worse,
a sadly brainwashed nation where impression's pre-rehearsed.

Generations plagued with loud misguided cries.
They say it makes you stupid, another heartless lie.
We'll strap a gas mask to a monkey, and force it THC.
Forget about the oxygen... I wonder what we'll see?
It seems their brain cells died - it has to be the drug!
Government made a discovery? They ought to be less smug.

But back to my friend, and I in the cold,
forced to be hidden from long outdated scold.
Celebrating beauties in the world that were forgotten,
we're told it's overrated, like fine Egyptian cotton?
I know from experience that this has to be divine:
it could not exist if the sun could not shine.
The wind has stopped blowing, the rain takes it's place,
to feel divine beauty of liquid touching face.
It is something natural, and comes from within,
wow, I'm still standing in a cold blistered wind.

When I decided to write my first poem, I thought back to the days,
when we were studying poetry and the teacher would amaze,
she'd make me write down words and things, I'd be chasing praise.
But looking back at my book now, I know what I should do,
and so here follows my glossary of things I'll write for you:

I have - Alliteration, Antagonist, Allegory and Anapest.
Characterisation, Complication, Convention and Connotation.
Elegy, Elision, Epigram and Exposition.
Free verse, Falling action, Falling meter and also Fiction.
Literal language, Imagery, Lyric poem and Irony.
Rising action, Resolution, Rising meter with Recognition.

Acatalectic, Anacreontic, Amphimacer and Amphibrachic.
Cliché, Common Measure, Couplets and Catalectic.
Deconstruction, Dispondee, Dialect Verse with a Dictionary.
Iambic Meter, Incantation, Impromptu with Inspiration.
Laureates and Limericks, Light Verse poems and Linguistics.
Metaphors, Mock-Heroics, Middle English and Movement Poets.

Oh gosh that seems a little worse, than I had it made to be,
I was expecting just to write a poem 'bout my cat and me.
I guess it's harder than it looks so I'll just give up now;
I'll let those big brave poet people, write them all somehow.

Constant changes, never defined,
she's constant beauty to be so kind.
Her gracious smile at times in year
do try to hide her more careful tear
that falls upon the earth again
she waits not long to pour more pain.
We the people do predict
her deceitful ways, her cunning tricks.
After all her hated nuisance cries
she teases us with better lies
but still it seems we haven't learnt,
without her change, we're artlessly burnt.
Her rays, what beauty does so hide
a poison bite that takes a life.
It fools my eyes, my head, my trust,
for constant beauty's merely lust.

Somewhere deep inside me,
is happiness.
Security.
  Comfort.
Somewhere inside me,
but none are triumphant.
Stress likes me though,
a lot,
I'm afraid.
Oh just to think of the things I would trade.
To be gone of my mistress,
my headaches,
tight neck.
That ***** I call strain
I would pay to forget.

A thousand gold pieces,
a million copper.
To cope with this ****-up
and cull my taut suffer.
To rest wrought resilience
and shame the old trophy.
A new era,
new chapter.
A new world where I see:
Security.
Comfort.
  and Happiness triumphant.

You are an illness,
my infection, my lie.
I think I might love you
but hate, still I try.

You are my poison,
my escape, my release.
I ask you to take me
for at last I'm at peace.

You blinded my heart
with both hate and corruption!
Why say that you love me?
Why face such destruction.

But no I can't have you,
you're not mine to take.
Yet still as I see you;
it's but my heart that does ache.

Childish innocence,
beautiful lies.
As summer begins,
it's spring that dies.
We're taught and we're told
to cherish and love.
But peel back skin,
enough - enough.
As hate prevails
and creature sins;
the lifeless trees,
take the win.
Dead rotting carcass,
smell, too vile.
But fear as I do,
it's nature's smile.

If I am to die today
to live last hour and pass away
to end a gift I did receive
a chance at pain and joy and greed.
Then the thoughts inside my head would die
my secrets, loves, my thoughts and lies.
And that is why I'm writing this
a poem to express my wish
to let you know the things you shouldn't
so when I die my life it wouldn't.
My life would live in knowledge kept
in things that others wouldn't let
people know about their lives
their secrets, loves, their thoughts and lies.

Poetry is the art of uniting pleasure with truth
someone once said to try and sooth
the truth they hid from all the rest
who ignore the art, who aren't impressed.
You see poetry is more the art
of uniting truth with what's in heart,
be that pleasure, pain, pride or glory
it's all expressed in one short story.
Such as this about my thoughts
for when I die I think I ought
to let you know my boring story
about my pleasure, pain and glory.

The problem is you see I can't
find a story to enchant
that does not lie, distort the truth
that would not make a better youth.
For now I've realised if I die
today, tomorrow I'd have to lie
to be remembered, kept it thought,
that's something I was never taught.
At last I know what I'm to do
to be remembered, and be true
I'd have to tell you things I shouldn't
so when I die my life it wouldn't
be forgotten, as with rest;
I'd be at peace, completed quest.

Work, eat, work, sleep.
Work, sigh - new week.

Bank holiday, work then tidy.
Sleep, eat, work now Friday.
Thank Crunchie, eat then tidy.
Iron, sleep, new week, Monday.
Met deadline, pat on back.
Tighter deadline, fancy that.
Have a breakfast, just be late,
work, sleep, work, a date!
Inspiration, "changed my life".
Work, think, change my life.

Starting Monday, new routine.
Work, play! Eat, sleep.
Missed deadline, angry voices.
Work, more work? Awful choices.
Work some more, please the boss.
Work, more work, another week lost.

New tie Tuesday, no one noticed.
Stop and think why I wrote this.
Just like thinking? Maybe not.
Dislike the answer? Bingo! Stop.
Thought too much, behind on deadline.
Work some more, eat then bedtime.

Today I realised my purpose of being -
I'm aging and waiting for the end of my living.
As each second passes another is lost,
for losing our seconds is our lives given cost.
You'll never feel, never see, never know this again;
this being now - and now - also then:
This is something we know, but ignored for it hurts.
But we can not forget - in memory it lurks.

Wait, no.
If the seconds are cost then what are we buying?
Is there no return that's not hurting or crying?
Have I forgotten the love, the joy in-between?
For each second pain is there not second dream?
I beg for a new eye, a new world to re-live in,
a new place with new laws and new people to believe in.
In this new world I'd be happy and free,
I'd be loved and love, I'd be lucky... not me.

No, I wouldn't be me, not in this world, anyway.
I'd be banished and gone, no new people, no betray.
I've ruined a world, but only the one,
or I've ruined my world, destroyed all the fun.
There's no more sins for me to adore,
they've all been spent leaving brilliant sore.
See I'm aging and waiting, and hurting and crying,
with the seconds I'm spending it must be this that I'm buying.
A blessèd reality, a trap painted gold,
manufactured promises with chances we've sold.
Sold for the seconds that I mentioned before,
the seconds we're spending on that brilliant sore.

*(Oh I really shouldn't think, I think way too much,
I see what this is, the world and the such.
Some people label it, call it depression,
I call it truth, just a big painful lesson.)

I miss the days we'd feed the ducks,
play hide and seek and watch TV.
I miss the days we'd laugh at cats,
their little nose and tiny feet.
Those days are gone, and now we're here.
Monsters and dark were the only fear.
Our little heads were full of glee,
we could play for hours, so much to see.

But now we sit, and hope, and cry.
I wish them back, oh how I try.
We hit an age, and all is lost,
the joy we knew, not worth the cost.
I'm in the days I worry, see.
I'm in the days I care.
Why create this world around us?
At least, for me, it seems not fair.

We could drown the world in drugs, perhaps.
Lost reality, open traps.
But why dent a soul, for each is loved.
I wish, this time, I could ask above -
But that's the answer, not above.
There's always one, a soul, a love.
We know they're there, but fear to try,
to tell that love, to combat shy.

Now think back to those younger days,
lemonade, parties, we did not pay.
But of course those days could not without
a gift, a payment, a thanks, the help.
So remember my love,
and remember it well.
For when hardship returns,
you'll want something to yell.

Never withdraw,
for that is surrender.
Such impact from question,
such hate from contender.
Uncomfortable mission,
The deed is now done.
The silence is haunting.
The silence does stun.
An answer is spoke,
it glues one it both.
A pulse gives up pulsing
as words are now oath.
Heart is to blossom
from seeds that do lay.
Yet nothing's eternal,
and the heart always pays.

Creating false hope,
dancing with fate.
I allow myself less
than my heart would now take.
I'm teased with elegance
beyond what I've known,
like a cancer with spite,
you've dismantled my throne.
Woeful misjudgements.
Harsh disbelief.
Your mind can not poison
what love can not chief.
But dear do I love,
despite all the rest.
I'm aware of mortality
too much, I confess.

I caught a glimpse, in the corner of my eye.
My heart told me to love her but my brain still made me lie.
I thought about that lie - "She's not the one for you".
Then I caught me staring, and I knew my heart was true.
I try to let my heart rule now,
my brain's too young to think.
They say that young love's sweetest but
I find that hard to link.
I spent a year in her eyes, but didn't feel it pass.
The feeling overtook me, the feeling went too fast.
Nothing seems to matter now, not with her around,
just a moment in her eyes - I know that fact is sound.

I think I saw him looking, in the corner of my eye.
I didn't want to look though 'cause I'm worried and I'm shy.
I wonder why he's looking, is it something that I've done?
I think it must be nothing, I think his eyes hit sun.
I wish that he was looking mind,
yet heart's too young to know.
My heart says let me love him
but of course my brain says no.
I spent a second in his eyes, and felt it last forever.
But brain said no and brain means so for brain is much more clever.
My heart keeps fighting, shouting - clawing at my head.
It hurts I know but must be so or something would be said.

I wish she would say something...
*I wish he would say something...

If I am to stop and actually think,
why I spill this indelible ink.
Why I allow my heart to be opened,
to fill other minds with a yellowish pink.
I come to conclude that I can't help but try
to poison your minds with love such as mine.
I have too much, I'm trying to share.
To prevent overfilling a venomous care.

I can not sleep because reality's better.
She's still in my mind.
I still can't forget her.
I'd rather not judge for imaginary's nicer.
I know she's quite quirky
but that's why I love her.
I still can not know because guessing is sweeter.
We talk less than I'd like,
I'm just happy to meet her.

Pick the one who's just out of reach.
Pick the one where your chances are mythical.
Pick the one that you know you can't breach.
Pick her just right and your heart will go critical.

She breathes out deeply
with worn out lungs, tired lips,
still expecting those couple hundred faceless friends to say something,
to even acknowledge her.

Of course,
she doesn't know what gives her the right to deserve their attention,
neither does she understand the concept that she,
like others,
happens just to be another face upon faces.
A penny amongst pennies
thrown carelessly into a pool of broken wishes.

Yet, despite the impression her cold experienced smile
still brushing the innocent minds of her
so called 'friends'
would happen to give.

She is, still wishing.

And it's the wish, the one day,
the just maybe that makes all the difference.

See that's the beauty of a wish,
it's something with no value,
it can not be swapped,
sold nor created.

And thus it's such that an acknowledgment,
a simple 'Hello',
can still be held as a wish,
despite it's shockingly slim chances of happening
without  
               actual.  social.  intervention.



*Why are we wishing?

From love I love a thousand things
but only two or three,
make my heart skip a beat,
melt and drain to feet.
The things in love we overrate
confuse and startle me.
Making out is great and all
but truly you believe?
That touching lips is better than,
holding hands and cheeky grins.
I believe love's greatest things
are silent, private, natural, free.
You know they know you missed a beat
and they know you know they did too.
In that brief and perfect moment,
brain shuts down; instincts cue.

Losing track,
left foot next,
right foot
left foot
stop, and - back.
Brain loads up,
lungs take air,
right foot
left foot
stop - relax.

In those brief and perfect moments,
when your heart drains to your foot,
you know love's worth the tricky
bits before and after put.
The moment after brain reboots
and lungs take air and feet compute.
Just before your head is clear,
you're sober and your thoughts adhere.
You're dizzy, almost, not severe,
in a word, your world - ideal.

For me, maybe, love is near?

I wake up, half past two,
late again, but dreamt of you.
Of all the things I wouldn't do?
Dream of you, a tortured tale.

Save past weeks you're new to me,
a shiny thing in endless sea,
but once too many have I believed,
then broken, lost, bereaved.

In my head you died, you see.
You couldn't have, he cheated she!
But yes, I know, it is, believe.
I didn't try, defaulted fail.

Soon won't pass
but in my head,
a thousand words
were never said,
an empty tale,
a soreful fail,
a broken, heartless, coward.

Too thoughtful,
too open,
regrets put in motion.

Too awful,
too hurting,
two truths now unearthing.

One secret,
albeit,
one drug to unleash it.

One passion,
one action,
one heart with two factions.