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  Mar 7 Nigel Finn
Emily B
his words take my breath away
his stars are not my stars
and there are worlds in-between

so i come back and i sit
and trace all the letters
slow, slow

i let my heart wander
just far enough
to feel the mountain air

singing feels like flying
from the pines
on the mountain

his words take my breath away
and i don't mind much
Nigel Finn Mar 3
Sometimes I wonder if I
Have forsaken my words
For the sake of a rhyme.
If it so happens that my
Mixture of nouns and verbs
Don't keep in pleasant time
Anymore, then I only
Have myself to blame
(I hope you'll forgive me),
But I hope that you'll see
Something that feels the same
Between the words that should be
Written ten feet high in burning light
And, lest there should be any doubt,
Written over and over again
As if caught between madness and delight,
And a need to find an escape out
From her name, her name, her name, her name
Nigel Finn Feb 28
I wrote a poem, just for you,
Wrought out of pain and tears.
You took the pain, and wrote one too;
It multiplied our fears.

I wrote a poem, filled with joy,
And gave you that as well.
You wrote one too, and helped destroy
Our paranoia's spell.
Nigel Finn Feb 26
The Same Table

We are all sitting
At the same table.
Some of us have more food,
                               more guns,
                               more oil,
                               more everything.
Some of us will laugh more,
                     will cry more,
                     will sigh more,
                     will feel more.
Some of us will die young,
                      will die old,
                      will die willingly,
                      will never live properly at all.
Some of us wear red,
                     wear blue,
                     wear black,
                     wear all the colours of the rainbow,
Some of us have light skin,
                     have dark skin,
                     have smooth skin
                     have scars criss-crossing our bodies,
But none of us
Sit high enough
          To look down
     On anyone.
Nigel Finn Feb 21
"There's a time and a place" the gravedigger said,
"For humour, and this isn't it."
But the thought process currently stuck in my head
Is: "Maybe it is. Just a bit."

The businessmen said, in no uncertain tones,
That my silliness simply won't do,
And quickly went back to their laptops and phones,
But I still think the opposite's true.

There's no harm at all in increasing the stock
Of the cheerfulness in this cruel world,
And, often, my humour has been like a rock
While the pain inside me has unfurled.

I cannot explain why, when I start to cry,
That, sometimes, I laugh while I do.
In the depths of despair, where men want to die:
I can see the ridiculousness too.

So if I should be sad, and you see me laugh,
Just know I'm still dying inside,
And that I simply have to follow this path,
Or tears will flow out in a tide.
"I feel an earnest and humble desire, and shall do till I die, to increase the stock of harmless cheerfulness." – Charles Dickens
Nigel Finn Feb 12
With pen in hand, I start to write
Whatever I am feeling,
But what I feel is utter *****;
I'm tired of self-healing.

But, pen in hand, I start to write,
With the hope something will change;
Letting it out may make things right,
Or a little less **** strange.

So, pen in hand, I start to write,
And perhaps it helps a bit.
Maybe tomorrow, or tonight,
I won't feel like total ****.

And, with pen in hand, I start to write
Of hate, and pain, and sorrow,
With the hopes that it may just might
Make life better tomorrow.

Now, with pen in hand, I start to write,
And I don't feel quite as bad,
So perhaps this life is worth the fight,
Even though it drives me mad.

With pen in hand, I start to write
Whatever I am feeling,
And what I felt was utter *****
That needed this self-healing.
Nigel Finn Feb 4
The loneliness settles in
Like a blanket,
Gently obscuring all it touches,

Covering entire swathes
Of woulds and coulds,
Leaving only silhouettes

Of what might have been,
That slowly collapse
Under their own weight.
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