They say...

it isn't about winning or losing
it's the sport
and the people who play it
But is it really?

She came from heaven
Just to laugh with me
To a rhythm of
My beating heart
With lips so warm
They burnt through
Every fiber of my soul
She held my hand and
Walked with me but
Never at my side
Yet I never saw a single fault
Until I saw her in a different light
I closed my eyes and dreamt her face
So lovely
The words could not describe
I tried to pull her closer
To whisper that I lo...
She stopped me short by
Placing finger on my lips
Leaned in and whispered...
“Silly boy, love is just a game
we play with feelings of another”.

Little baby nothing


Momma nothing, your baby has got the blues.
These tears I weep are the only way I can speak with you.
Little empty of feelings, little crazy days in Hell,
For little baby, waiting for an angel, to help me clean myself.


Couldn’t find the words to speak,
‘Take this dummy out of my mouth.’
Pacify your little baby nothing;
Oh my Goddess, why can’t you help me out?


Silence breaks the screaming; nothing left to shout about,
Or let out.
Full of gas.  A giggle laugh.
All these things which I am scheming;
Got to find a way to indulge the doubt and the dreaming.


I couldn’t face another half-truth.
I cannot tell the lies from how I should feel.
I couldn’t cover my feelings, bruised.
I’m falling into myself with no way to heal.


Another soiled ***** removes the smile from my face.
Another bib full of happy pictures.
I can only eat if I become a runway.
Flashing camera blinds my eyes, I’m lost, I need her!
The Manics blow my little ear drums.
My mood changes with every tear;
Isn’t life such fun!


I cry for I have no human language,
That I can use to explain to giants.
This is no fun, satisfaction impatience;
I have been waiting for a year!
Why does mommy not come to me?
I wish I didn’t disappear.


Little baby, nothing left to say,
Beneath the blues mid-winter.
Tired of singing lullabies,
This hobbit needs another dinner.


You love us,
But you love us,
But you love us,
But you love us.
Do you love us?


Little baby nothing doesn’t lend a hand.
Little baby nothing just can’t understand,
Post-natal, post-partum,
Post-modernism epiphanies.


(C)2018 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.

Lips pursed
Blatant irritation
Eyes flickering, like little fireflies
Shining a spot light
On every little piece of dust
Remotely out of place
In my room