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Luke R E Webster Jan 2016
I was inspired by the eyes of my love,
as she looked over as we did commonplace chores in the urban centre.
I had admired the slight of her touch,
as we embraced in the dew-covered morn just as I left her.
My love waits for me,
in the past,
of our memories.
We exist,
with each other.
We resist,
one another.
Then desist,
hopeful hover.
My love is alone,
though I am there,
I am with you my love,
I’m sorry,
I have to help this,
I just want to lie in your arms,
away from all this,
I’ve found love,
but cannot be there,
in the splendor of its beauty,
I must see to something,
but my love,
I will be with you,
as it was before,
I promise.
I don't know if you'll ever read this, but I want to tell you that things will get better.
Luke R E Webster Jan 2016
As great men and women pass on from this world, all we can do is exist, for now. Our function within the world is a single serving occurrence. We exist for it’s own sake, just as life exists for no particular reason. There is comfort in this, there is comfort in existence, life. As we near the end of our time with life, we realise this truly. My Father realised this at an early age, war almost bringing to him a premature end, and his life since has been free of a fear of his own death. My Mother doesn’t approve and I don’t truly understand. If I knew in my soul that an afterlife existed, then I would not fear my own death, but I would still fear the death of those I love, of those I know well and have loved since time immemorial, for what life is worth living if one is entirely devoid of love? No, for now love will be better than all the riches in the world, for love, unlike riches, or fame, or power, is worth the fear. It compensates for the unparalleled trepidation with an enrichment of the soul that none of these could ever offer, or even attempt to emulate. Love is love, life is life

Love is Life.
My Father is a great man, who is one of the greatest storytellers this world has and will ever see.
Luke R E Webster Dec 2014
I've seen...
Many an egg dropped by the proverbial hen
then egg becomes number through paper and pen
then greed facilitates the perpetrators of this
with ample incentive to young girls a kiss.

Then kiss unexpectedly leads to *******
and the greedy ******* end with a non-legit son
many of the girlies will attempt abortion
but a few will not do as the ******* tell them.

So the son soon and swiftly becomes an anomaly
while it's elder brother says to daddy "are you proud of me"
the oxbridge acceptance letter filled him up with glee
but the dad knows secretly it's all to do with money.

So the half witted son takes up the mantle of the father
as senility and guilt have finally gripped the latter
the son through drugs and experimentation is madder
his social status dictates,
he'll always climb the ladder.

A few years pass, we're in different situation
the son of senility has got grip o' the nation
shaking wretched and archaic crumbling foundations,
he's shaking the **** all over his poorer realtion.

But the overgrown man-child doesn't know,
that since he took power his brother sits in the cold,
that with all the food he eats, he chews it real slow,
so he can have food for longer, fill that hole.

But does it make it all right at once,
cuz he claims ignorance
or should the people at the top
be people from the bottom,
the ones who looked up,
but got nothing but trod on.

It's impossible to relate,
when you all dissipate,
when your middle class darling,
has a working class date.

So the ******* child doesn't vote,
through bedroom tax lost his home,
Senile son?  Victory of note
fake promises in the matriarchal dome.

Apathy strikes again,
this ****'s impossible to defend,
how can we justify not getting off our *****?
not doing something about all this in the masses?
oh yeah, that's right
although barely know the people at the top,
We've all seen their soles as they've trod on our lots
Luke R E Webster Dec 2014
Sitting in my flat,
To my couch I am thatched,
Kyle’s yelling,
He keeps telling,
Me to,
Get a job,
Like walk straight into one,
I get slightly indignant,
That it’s easier said than done,
He points it out,
So his main demographic
Don’t switch off en-masse,
Ending his quasi-infographic
Combination of hot air and bad gas
Mr. Kyle’s relatable,
He makes an effort
So unlike certain Eton educated conservative western capitalistic illuminati slaves,
He’s not hateable.

SO, my now easily distracted mind turns to Mr.C,
The way his policies A.K.A BEDROOM TAX negatively impact me
The way he forces me into obvious and obnoxious modern day slavery
Through way of a work programme
How he has decided that I need to experience real life life,
Through legislation and universal credit,
Credible implication to make the poorest poorer because they have the gall to spend it

SO my rhyming thought full of tangents
Must now come to end
As the tangent I have accomplished
Is impossible to defend.
A retrospective view on a day in the life when I was on JSA
Luke R E Webster Dec 2014
I'm waiting for the train.
Its a really lovely day.
Theres a rainbow in the sky,
like sugar for my eyes.
The air is nicely crisp,
healing my cracked lips.
But over the hills hails a dark cloud,
a gauntlet called out aloud.
The train will now be departing at 9:22,
now what the **** am I supposed to do?
The weather gets slightly colder,
the rainbow gets bolder,
goes from rainbow to rain blowing.
The anger in me starts showing.
My lips are in agony,
my hands buried in either side of me.
And just as a raindrop hits me in the eye,
the train shows up,
at 10:05
Wrote this whilst and after waiting for the train this morning
Luke R E Webster Apr 2013
Slowly decaying,
under no pressure,
time will pass,
without measure.

In a box,
alone with love,
future fleeting,
for all to see.

By the wayside,
across the bay,
people few,
none can save.

Time to end,
as false life beckons,
Poets lone,
langauge lessens.
Luke R E Webster Apr 2013
How I am injured,
at the sanctity of man,.
How are we hindered,
by the rarity, we can

We see a light,
corrupted by us,
we need a brighter slight,
where sacredness is a must.

Rarely it's seen,
a man living by his dreams,
liars abundant,
but never the dreams.
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