Hours, days and weeks,
Maybe even years,
Of writing down my joy and pain,
My ecstasy and tears,
Far too long have I grown so distanced,
An outsider looking for the next phrase,
Wanting to be accepted,
But denied the magic of praise.

Still I sit and write,
Words that I concoct,
Things that I never dare to share,
That, in my heart, stay locked,
Those utterances and emotions,
They’re never heard even when I pray,
Yet still I take this journey,
Roads of writing my life away.

Songs, lyrics, poetry,
Prose, sonnets and plays,
Just watch me try,
Endeavour to write my life away.

An incredible feeling of pride,
A desperate sense of denial,
The difference?
An aching heart and a burning soul,
An empty shell, a vacant hole.

An incredible feeling of strength,
A desperate struggle to weakness,
The difference?
An aching mind and a flaming core,
An empty well, blood on the floor.

Cigarettes and *******,
Sliding through my body,
I ache in pain and pleasure,
My heart is beating fast,
My mind is moving slow,
Drunk on Jack Daniels,
And secretly wanting to go.

Over and out and overboard,
I'm tried of the need to come alive,
Tired of losing four times out of five,
Reflection is shattered,
Soul is battered,
Cigarettes and *******,
Hate them, hurt me, want them.

Feelings,
Emotions,
Laughing in a solitary silence,
The bombs; such sounds,
Pain and hurt,
A body uncovered,
A body revealed,
A body discovered,
Another man killed,
A disguise,
A facade,
A dance of joy,
This bear he marches,
This bear,
No more.

(This poem is dedicated to the brave men and women who battled and served for their country in 1914 - 1918. May we never forget!)

...And we went,
Beyond and over,
March to the fall,
No longer able,
Collapsed,
Knees crumbling beneath,
Gone away,
Can you see us?
Remember us,
...And we went.


(This is poem is dedicated to all the brave men and women who fought and did their part for our world in WW1 1914 - 1918.)

Punish my heart,
It aches to feel that which it fears,
The destiny of anguish,
The demise of sanity encountered through the years,
The years of struggle, strife and sadness,
The bliss of discovering the safety of madness.

Concrete rooms, concrete sky,
The layers they place upon my grave,
No coffin - just angry mud,
Of insects and bugs waiting to feast,
Upon the remains of flesh from the East,
Cold and my form deformed.

No heaven above have i travelled to,
No hell below has consumed me,
No limbo to repent and deny,
Just silent bitterness; jury for the death i daily die,
The tears i bury in a casket of air,
Frozen to the altar; i feel nothing is there.

Punish my heart,
It bleeds the red and hot of love,
Sheds the red and hot of hate,
Leaving an empty shell that yearns for the sting of salt,
The salt of seaside, sun and sadness,
The fear of discovering the safety of madness.