Forgive me if I sit here,
And watch you live in peace.
I have begged for mercy all my life,
And I am still down on my knees.

Excuse me if I question,
All that I see.
Whilst you watch or read what your fed,
conveniently on pay TV.

Forgive me if I am shaken,
By your happiness in life,
Whilst turning a blind eye,
As others are purposely stripped of their lives.

Though who am I to judge you,
We live in a democracy.
A land of trust, respect, and,
Honesty?


Only a minority see the truth,
Whilst millions cry for change.

As we sit here broken,
In unbroken chains.

Little do you know
the songs and their
meanings,
those days and their
callings.

Little do you know
the twisted lies and their
truth,
those freed sorrow and their
remnants.

Little do you know
the paths I take and their
consequences,
those breaking points and their
change.

Little do you know
Who I've become
and I
you.

He said
Maybe
He said
I don't know what the future holds
He said
This might be able to work
He said
He cares...

She said...
What if?
She said
Let's get married
She said
Let's have babies
She said
I love you
She said
I care too much...

He said...
Maybe
He said
Never
He said
I can let my walls down...

She...
Smiled
She...
Shed a tear
She said
I love you

To

Someone else

But...
He said
Maybe.
And she melted into
another's arms...

The sun isn't present today
tears are streaming down their faces
not a story to tell
my stupidity has emerged out of the blue
I was supposed to write a poem about the word "the"
but unfortunately all I could think of is the misery I am in
after I boarded a time machine and travelled into the past and realized that I wasn't present anymore

Thinking of parks, gardens, and yards..

Not a single minute of wonder
Not even a street to wander

Sitting in silence at home,
Not even a window to look out of
Not a single door to open

Imprisoned in the darkest place
a person can dream of

Just wishing I could have a glimpse,
*of what the world looks like

She is my gaping wound
And my tourniquet
An ancient god
When I need modern medicine
She is a thing I happened upon
Who stole the water from the vein
But she isn't the drought
For she is the rain
It took a death
To know of life
Set my love free
Then paid the price

I happened upon a needle
The surrounding hay praised its name
But their god pricked my finger
Now I don't bleed the same
As I once did
Some of the pieces spilled out
And there are not enough jars
In a world filled with lids

She is a song on a deaf ear
A fallen autumn leaf
She is the forest torn to shreds
To make a Christmas wreath
She is my lover and she is my killer
For I was the field and she was the tiller

Behold all that we should happen upon
For that which kills us
May also bring
All we shall know of joy.

You're my stillborn butterfly
afraid of your new beauty
with limp wings,
pried from the safety of your cocoon
by my old hands
in a forest where everything
is charred.
Only the skeletal trees
once lush with life and birdsong
can admire your strange elegance
as you lay listless on their roots
that thirst for a storm of passing love
and thunder.

I want to carry you away
to my field of wildflowers
and resurrect you with the unmasked glow
of the shy moon, who only shows its face
in this meadow of lies.
I'll watch the breeze wake you on my fingertips
then let you fly away, carelessly
into a world of color
I'll never compare to.