Consider what to cease
With a view to increase
That margin needed to keep
Your essential level of peace
Maintain a healthy fringe
Rather than pack each inch
With no room to breathe
When circumstances pinch
Protect rest on your pillow
And the rest will follow
Make enough space
For more of your mellow
Through this poem, I do solemnly confess
My morbid obsession with Death, my Knight
Meeting you would be the ultimate test
Your harrowing grasp is my daily plight
You did take my mother that fateful day
To that realm of gold beyond this Earth's veil
Mem'ries, are all I have, of what she'd say
They'll keep me going 'til when "we'll" set sail
I long for you with a yearning that's deep
Simply waiting for you to come my way
To take my weary soul for Hædes' keep
How I pray Fate may hasten to that day
I'll be on my watch for you 'til we meet
Death, this verse has been penned for you, my Sweet
day and night
i wanted to
I wrote a lot
it's all about you,
but you give nothing
you just bring
rain and dark skies.
The habits are
seems in need
i want to wake up
and see you soon
If you know me by now
Nothing will feed me, but that
You understand what I live for
And try not to perish with
Lay me down a place to recover
A lyric in gold and green, you'll see
What a gentleman looks for
What a good lady frets of.
The way I need everything
Is in your hands, take
Care of me, I'm haggard
And lost without more adjectives,
So without my defence
Stay with me
"Just five minutes more" is the cry.
Playtime has been interrupted by the familiar "hurry up."
Vocabulary common to every parent:
"You've had ten more already. Time to get out."
Why do they insist? My needs never win the battle.
Why is my fun spoilt with this never ending list of demands?
"Oh, it's not fair" is yelled in anguish and responded to by further rebuke.
The severity of consequence based on their ambiguous countdown is increasing;
a thread of the "Thinking Spot" will no doubt soon follow.
A few grumbles are followed by silent protest,
albeit underpinned with a threat of childish tantrum.
It's time for the family meal and this standoff has but one resolution.
Isolated relaxation time is over.
The timetable of the young child at the door demands no less;
the parent must vacate their ten minute bath.
My eyes are weary
My mind is wide
And open to you
Would you take my head within your hands?
And set me back?
Pulling the pain from behind my eyes?
Would you be the pressure
My temples need most desperately
For a moment's peace?
Because no one else has struck a chord
As caring as me