It's three in the afternoon,
Am at my fourth bottle of *****,
But don't you dare call me an alcoholic!
I look out my window to the street,
The sun's rays penetrating my pupils,
Much to my disgust.
I see two young lovers hand in hand,
If only they knew what heartbreak was.
I see some young kids playing on the street,
If only they knew the turmoils of adulthood.
I see a very young man singing happily,
If only he knew the horrors of life awaiting him.
I grinned and sneered,
As I saw the dark path thay lay ahead for everyone.
"Fools!", I called them.
They must lack common sense,
Out of touch with reality.
Surely they weren't reading the news,
Or checking the economic state of the country.
I was once ****** like them,
But I became wise after losing all hope,
And getting in touch with reality.
Am at my fifth ***** now,
My liver is failing, the Doctor says...
But I don't care!
We will all die anyway.
If there is light at the end of the tunnel,
Then I must be heading towards the beginning.
You can call me hateful,
I call me realistic.

the sun is my king and sometimes it asks me
what i'm doing down here on earth
i can't help but explain that everything has it's place and there are certain rules you cannot bend
i consistently want to have a ****** job wherein it slowly melts my spirits but not really
what i really want is nothing by the sea
doesn't matter which one
where i can pray into the sand
where someone asks
who are you? what are you doing?
and i can tell them
at ease, at ease
like that cowboy i remember from my childhood
this is me at my most degenerate
at my most free
but you wouldn't know
except the sun king and I

Once a proud father,
A builder, a family leader.
A spawner of a new generation.
Lost to the trials of aging,
A time faded away,
A mind still intact,
Never aged a day past 40
A body giving up,
Forced to standby and watch yourself,
Lose your abilities
To the reaper.

Wet falls on the striking lines of cobble
On the swerving paths of trouble
My socks are damp and my feet are cold
Light climbs on the dusky evening
Sharp as faerie wings
Hot like golden spring
My eyes are closed and
My hands are bound

There are rats at the dip of the grass before
The ***** to the water begins
Before the moulding wind sings
On the spine of a duck’s back
There are trees and trees and trees
That live in solace without wings
That rise with a curved branch
Towards the sky

Green air tinged durky damp
Leave spots on fading paths
Where my scared footsteps leave no visible mark
Is there a curse among the leaves?
A misgiving in the trees?
I open my door to a bumbling kettle
Go home breathing empty grey
To dream of the lake.

Somewhere down the dividing line,
Souls get separated in due time,
Even when growing together on the vine,
It withered and died in winter's time,
A place not so special,
No different from another,
But special in it's own way,
Because it was our place to stay.

©BAS

A word whispered,
Upon a day of loss,
Will dreams carry on,
The will of a man long gone?
Will you fight?
Or will you die like a dog?

©BAS

A soul sent back,
To the kingdom of some god,
If a heart wishes for salvation,
Upon a bed of death,
Then mayhaps that heart will go,
To where the mind wishes it would.

©BAS

Is the destiny of mankind,
In the modern day,
To die glued to a hospital bed?
Bravery and honor dashed by father time,
Taken away by ageing reapers hands,
Time spent in final moments,
A normal day like any other,
Yet it is the last of days.
Spent with such brevity,
As if there would be more.
Maybe this is the fate of modern man.
To not be felled by blade or bullet,
Only felled by failure of organs.
Yet the mind stayed intact.
A young mans mind in an aging body.
Is it the fate that awaits us all?

©BAS

Territories unseen,
Places unified,
Loves lost to time and regret,
Unknown lives, lived by hidden people,
Times dissipated from now,
Humanity lost,
To seas uncharted,
To the depths of my heart,
All so foreign to me.
A call for help,
Disguised as poetry.
A guise worn
Unknown.


©BAS