I am alive right now, right now I'm alive
But I'm feeling dark, yeah I'm feeling blind
Don't know what tomorrow brings, got a feeling I don't care
My thoughts are mine and they're so hard to share
You do not owe me anything but I am not yours to keep
I will lie still in silence and just continue to weep

I am not here, I have been lost
I have traveled far beyond this box
All the roads on the map
It doesn't matter now
The time passing by
It doesn't feel right now
And I am not this, I cannot see
I cannot breathe with it crushing me

There is a crack beneath where I stand, the length of my elbow to my hand
It leads to a hole inside of the ground
It whispers my name, forcing me to glance down
It grasps at my ankles, holding me still
I kick and fight it with all of my will
But I am fatigued, I have grown weak
I have begun to lose what I seek

I am not here, I have been lost
I have traveled far beyond this box
All the roads on the map
It doesn't matter now
The time passing by
It doesn't feel right now
And I am not this, I cannot see
I cannot breathe with it crushing me

I don't know where I'm going, sure I'll see you there
When I find me again a smile we can share
And you'll see how happy a sad heart can be
Yeah we will see how happy a sad heart can be

is always a poem after this one;
an understudy to today's centre stage:

this poem however, is never unimportant,
as individual as the poem that follows;
many poems have unwritten forbears-
each is breathed and lived; rarely spoken.

this poem's panorama is found in one place –
a window of its reader's imagination;
so each poem is just a beginning point
of new journeys that we join with the poet.

another is birthing at the end of this one;
there may be several, in fact, awaiting their turn.*




_ _ __ ✒
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°

they've all got silk for voices
measured pauses, pretty words
pain they know how to articulate and there is me
fading into the audience, happy to act
like i've never written a poem
all my life
as if i can listen to their art without
feeling my fingers quiver and resonate to the very words they say written
all over the hands i've hidden away

i like my fists in my pockets,
i like feeling safe
but they are up there naked in the most spiritual way
i can't look any of them in the eye
without hearing the poetry they wear
like a definition of the souls they've learnt
how to chain to the bones they claim to loathe so ******* much

i think of standing up there;
reading the things my fingers have whispered
over paper on nights i can't even remember,
and then i can't breathe
this poetry is my saviour please
words fade faster the louder you speak
my secrets are on paper i don't even keep
why should i trade in the only air i know
how to breathe for pity i'll never deserve?