I’m not there

I’m not there to dry your eyes
to wipe away your tears.
I’m not there to comfort you
or drive away your fears.
I’m not there to tell you it’s ok
or make you feel safe.
I’m not there for you to need me
when you’re in a bad place.
I’m not there for you to shout at
when to shout is what you need.
I’m not there for you to cry in
when you’ve had a bad dream.
I’m not there for you to talk to
when you’re feeling all alone.
I’m not there for you to wonder
if tonight I’m coming home.
I’m not there for you to love
and not there for you to hate.
I’m not there for you to moan at me
when I come home late.
I’m not there to make you smile,
I’m not there to cause you pain
or listen to my lies.
But I am there in your heart
and I’m there in your memories.
All the good times that we had
is how I hope you remember me.

When the wind blows
And the sun shines
And the rainfall hits the ground;
When I breathe in
And I see things
I wish I could turn around.

I can’t earn it
Don’t deserve it
It won’t take away the pain;
I’m not worthy
Have no power
And wouldn’t do it again
I can’t ask for you to forgive me
The things I need to move at last,
Away from all the misery and hurt
That trail forward from my past.

Whatever things need doing
I would gladly play my part,
If you could find for me
Forgiveness in your heart.

If I could only change the world
The first thing I would do,
Is make me in a different way
So, I’d never had hurt you
….Forgive Me.

It’s early hours,
my sleep gets disturbed.
Outside my door I hear the sound of rushing footsteps,
keys jingling and jangling down the wing.
Through the fog of sleepiness, I can hear a distant alarm bell sing.

In the dead of night,
the only truly peaceful time inside.
It is death itself that breaks the silence,
stirring sleeping guards into action.
Oh, the irony;
that death causes such life in those whose default mode is indifference.

So, don’t you tabloids tell me that my life’s easy inside!
When its steals your will and destroys your pride.

It won’t be long before the ‘Window Warriors’ begin their chanting,
regaling the wing of another young man’s end.
Their words, cold and callous;
reflections that a sentence takes away so much more,
than simple liberty behind locked doors.
Where there was once stood a proud man,
now lies prone just the empty shell.

So, don’t you tabloids tell me, that my life’s easy inside!
When its steals your will and destroys your pride.

In a system that devalues human life to a mere number,
290, there’s a number,
the men and women that met their end in prison last year alone.
Each one of them dying before their time,
each one wasted to anonymous dysfunction,
putting rules and protocols before humanity.

Effects that reach far beyond the walls and razor wire,
Into the lives of family, friends and loved ones.
Left behind with sad memories but no answers.

So, don’t you tabloids tell me, that my life’s easy inside!
When its steals your will and destroys your pride.

Life is so easy in prison!
You all read about that in The Sun;
So, it must be TRUE !!!!
Everyone has an Xbox and Sky TV,
and larks about all-day drinking *****.
Who really cares if it is not the truth?

The reality is, life inside is scary, it’s lonely,
it is harsh, and it is stressful.
Living in a concrete box,
viewed through the oblong microscope in the door,
like you are some-sort of germ or bacteria.
Eating your meals 6ft away from your toilet.

Prison is a monster.
It swallows you up whole,
chews you around for a while,
and what is left is spat out back into society.

So, don’t you tabloids tell me, that my life’s easy inside!
When its steals your will and destroys your pride.

You’re so full of ******* !!!

Stepping through the portal, chaos’s pause is pressed.
I sit at a table with my baguette, fries & coke,
watching the world continue without me.

The sun is out today, it has been a long time coming,
yet I can hear complaints;
“It’s too **** hot!!!” – Typical Britishness.

I take a bite of baguette,
Savouring the flavours of cottage cheese & pineapple,
a burst of the tropical in my mouth, reflecting the weather outside.

The sunshine has brought with it an abundance of skin on show.
Short skirts & crop-tops; pecs out, shorts & flip-flops,
The wearing of whatever is cool.
Old guys in Panama hats, sandals & socks – Not Cool!!!

I take a bite of baguette and wash it down with coke.

An overpacked bus stops opposite, expelling its human cargo.
Limp, damp and glistening in the sunshine;
Sardine people exiting a giant can on wheels

I take a bite of baguette.

A homeless guy blows in from the concrete plains like a tumbleweed.
Despite the heat, he wears all he possesses;
jeans, jumper, an old school-style parka.
An old sleeping bag and blanket thrown over one shoulder, dragging along behind him.

He stops and asks me for change.
I give him my fries.
He seems grateful.
I feel guilt-free as he leaves;
But I wonder what else he will get to eat today?

I take a slightly guilt-ridden bite of baguette and wash it away with some more coke.

A posse of students come in and join some already seated.
Fist bumps and various cultural greetings are exchanged.
Instantly, the moderate hum of a busy eatery is shattered by the new arrivals as music goes on a portable speaker.

What a God-awful racket it is that passes for music these days!
Suddenly, I feel really old as I hear the voice of my grandfather in my head;
he expressed that very same opinion about my music of choice in the 80s.
The recollection makes me smile.

I take a bite of baguette.
Another bus stops opposite, and more sardine people get off.
More flesh passes by, both cool, and the Not Cool!
More of the homeless amble by asking for change and picking up discarded ***-butts that show the promise of a smoke for later.
Pushchairs laden with sleeping babes, toddlers trailing behind harassed mothers.
Workers, shoppers and moochers;
the whole mix of society passes by, doing what it does.

I take a final bite of baguette and finish up the last of the coke.

My sojourn over, I must now pass once more through the portal,
my window to the world.
Once again, I am simply part of the madding crowd.

When God has placed me in your path, before your very eyes,
I wonder if you see me as a devil in disguise.
A monstrous freak of nature now estranged from God’s true way,
wrapped up in my sins, my wretched soul lost in the fray?

But oh, the revelation, should you spare me the second glance,
the things you might discover if you’d give me just a chance.
My mistakes are not my life, and my problem’s not my name;
If God can grant me mercy, surely you could do the same?

You think a heartless criminal, is all I’ll ever be,
no chance that I could ever fit, into society.
But what you might not realise, is that, inside my mind,
the light of Jesus Christ our Lord helps me confront your kind.

If only you could see that there, is more to me than this,
beneath the crime exists my sanctum; my eternal bliss.
God has saved me from myself, I’ve made peace at last with shame;
If God can grant me mercy, surely you could do the same?

I realise you still see me, as the man I used to be,
that creature whose reflection was the one I refused to see.
But after years of prison time, a new man wears my face,
I placed myself in God’s two hands; he filled my life with grace.

To you I’m just a stranger with a past that’s here to stay,
but still, you’d find it interesting to stop and talk one day.
It’s easy just to judge me, though I must accept the blame;
If God can grant me mercy, surely you could do the same?

I’ve repented of my decisions, and now bask in God’s true love,
cleansed of all my earthly sins, I praise him in the heavens above.
What must I do to make you see, my nature is now pure?
If you’re sickened by my past, that illness has a cure.

If you let me, I can try to help you, see with open eyes,
but it’s up to you to make the shift, to see the truth behind the lies.
So, if you see me walking near, recall my heartfelt claim;
If God can grant me mercy, surely you could do the same!

She is rich, hot and dark,
She is my South American beauty,
My object of desire.

She is the first thing on my mind each day,
And I am a lucky man indeed as I get to enjoy her raw nakedness each morning,
She sets my pulse a racing and it energises me for the day ahead.

I look forward to our lunchtime together,
When I get to hold her again, and stare deep into her,
Intoxicated by her perfume, the time flies past so fast.
That brief 20 minutes in her company just isn’t enough to slake my desire.

Walking through the city I have seen her sat with other men,
And it stirs within me barely controllable jealousy.
I want to rush over and ****** her away
Yelling, “NO! she’s mine!”
But I don’t, she deserves to be admired by others too.

She looks so good, no matter how she is styled,
Elegant, classic or cool & casual.
And I proudly enjoy my bus journey home in her company,
Once again savouring our time together.

She has become my mistress, my world,
A captive of her exoticness, I am enslaved,
To me she is everything,
But to you,
Maybe she is just a cup of coffee.