A poem is a bird
in a gilded cage
a pining soul
on a weeping page.
Open the door
but still it stays
Close the door
and it flies away.

I got three different chocolate bars
here on a plate at home.
One is with caramel for sure
and pretty soft I guess,
I'm going to leave this alone
or else I make a mess where I am now.

The other is of biscuit and of caramel
as well as the first one.
Looks better alltogether and will be
more fun to eat.

The last one now is of a creamy kind
with milk and all that stuff.
I save this one there, too,
for when the rough times come.

*Now here I stand:
nothing to eat cause all must be
untouched.
nothing in my sweet little hand
but thin blue air

a pair of borrowed shoes
and borrowed thoughts.

Alas, when the time comes
and frost will freeze the floor
I'll have three things;

Two chocolate bars of caramel,
a biscuit one,
and all the hope that brings me
through the winter,
where nothing will be done

I thought the ceasefire had come.
I had survived the press gangs
and carpet bombs
and the drum of war had been
reduced to the constant undying
thud of my heart.
I was hoping to feign retreat.
Three days of deepest winter
before a new year in the sun
hanging like Christ over the Zodiac
and not from the branch
of my father's tree.

The extension cord came loose.
Bread knives are now curious
fascinations
and sit in my stomach like
so much red wine and that writer's pride
in greeting death.
I was hoping to gain a peace.
To place it like a necklace
or badge of honour on my breast
to remind the tourists of the ******
that ravaged the town
I had grown up in.

I have eight years left to die.
After that I will grow fat
and loose in mind
and forget why sadness is
so important in the modern world
of dying art.
I was hoping for vague release.
Something to **** cowardice
and that hesitant breath before
the pull of a blade or jump to the sea
of endless black hole
and icy relief.

I thought the ceasefire had come.
We had stood outside to watch
the confetti
fall to the ground with delay
in a wind we had come to suspect
would destroy us.
I was hoping to gain belief.
I thought the rockets  had stopped
or else been pointed to the sky
in a bottled message from all mankind
to another place,
to another time.

Last night I had a strange dream about a man called the Doctor
it was his new form of a middle age Scottish man . Of course he had many faces. His transport was a police box but really a Tardis

i am forever sorry
and i am forever yours

(here's hoping)

you are forever forgiving
and forever mine

Now i am beging for life i want to be live,
who will give a right to exist,
human being is a creation of god,
i want to being a human but i am not,
for me stress depress are common words,
these words have great impact on my,
present world;
like all persons i am not,
i have learnt those lessons my life taught,
fighting for love and standing at the edge of death is my present and also my past,
but now i want to live till the world ends and long may i last,
demons be modified with love and patience & if they are not discriminated & blamed,
iamgination is the colourful world we can see,
we an fill our favourite colours and can be  the one we want to be,
cant calculate my problems which i have beacuse i cant remember them and cant judge myself what i am,