I always find it strange
How a clear sunny sky
Can turn to a dark cloudy rainstorm
In the blink of an eye

Now there's nothing I can see
Beyond one hundred feet
Just my dear surroundings
My belongings and me

Where did you come from?
What brings you here?
What do you want with me?
What are you doing here?

How long are you going to stay?
When are you going to leave?
I have plans for tomorrow
Don't ruin them for me please

How long must this go on for?
How much of this do we have to take?
How did we get ourselves into this mess?
How do we get ourselves out?
How many times has this happened?
How hard could it be to prevent this?
How many days has it been now?
How many weeks, months and years?
How many times must we do this?
When will this ever come to an end?

They say that all is fair in love and war
But is all fair in the war of love?
Is there temperance amidst the virile and the delicate?
Or is it just a guise shielding us from the bitter truths of love?

Dear brother of mine
Bold lawman in the making
Had a young sweetheart years apart

He was climbing up fast
With the promise of a bright future
And she would only be the start

But two summer days
Of ecstasy and pleasure
Were all it took in the name of time

For the young sweetheart
With his heart on a hook
To tear apart the cord of his precious spine

Now his reputation, his hopes, his dreams are on the line
Because of a young heart whose blood was replaced with slime
How can this happen to a man of pure heart and mind?
Such a burden to my dear brother will never be a friend of mine

The unrelented grotesque of the old town centre
Buzzing strongly from its high
Too many unpleasantries for me to count
Is what I discovered after midnight

While everyone was laughing, shouting and wandering around
I was cowering, screaming and pleading for no more sound
My butterflies were neurotic - they were eating me inside
It's a wonder why I didn't throw up one single time

And so, I ran away
Through the flags and bunting
I ran away
Past the ranting and blubbering
I ran away
I'm anxious to tears
I ran away
Get me out of here!

You read my poetry in an attempt to understand me
versus an attempt to read literature
or fiction
or art
So you pick apart each sentence
and each syllable
and each subject
and you try so hard to figure me out
You want to know what I was thinking when I wrote this poem
or that poem
but what that tells me is perhaps you aren't even reading them at all
Although what poets express comes from the debths of our creative closets and emotional state
you must still open up your mind and soak up the words for what they are
Not for who I am