When all my dreams are lively dreams no more,
And dirt, my winter blanket covers me;
To join as dust eternal time has store;
The fate of fates does destine mine to be.
No shine of summer reach below the field
Let barren as the life had lived, now low,
But lest a bed of grass have fresh dirt shield
So none may think me buried six below.
That gentle patter of the autumn winds
Not play the beat this core once drummed ago
When spring did glow before what time recinds,
Leave damp and lonely soil and all it's woe:

That cold; be all my seasons, all of four
If I am not to see you evermore.

(Sonnet)

Poppies, wild in a quarry,
Orange, brighter than sun,
Thrusting thoroughly gravel,
Bold as soul crossing sticks
Into ****** pagan heydays,
A crop of colours branding
The loose stipend of stones,
One windy trail-flare shock,
A bulwark of stars, so laden
On landed, maiden shores,
The first batillion breaking,
By mighty petal, prim hands
Fiercly alive atop the lifeless,
Gravely low, defeated soot.
.

Life without God goes a little bit like this;
You get to choose whatever makes you feel good,
Which is often misunderstood,
And we get trapped into an endless abyss.
For those roots determine your way of living-
Ups feel like ecstacy,
Downs succumbs you unpleasantly,
You end up being very unforgiving.
Now let me tell you how life is with God;
You don't always choose whatever feels great,
and people might judge you for being odd.
God loves you, He chooses the best-
ever-changing feelings no longer dictate you.
Oh how He loves you, that He gives you rest.

When, if ever be, will I feel again
The divine inspiration channeled down
Heavens gift of treacherous love and pain
which languishes poets and mounts their frown

I’ve forgotten the touch of lips on lips
As mature and pure as the earth is old
And guilt of my blood from him it drips
Hold centuries of these stories untold

If it be, I never feel lips once more
Memories run through the earth in letters
I shall open these books, through them explore
Love and heart, through another man’s pleasures

Till then, I’ll read, and I’ll write, and I’ll weep
Easing emptiness with merciless sleep.

Thinking of another reality,
As I sit comfortably amongst my wealth.
Thinking of my finite mortality,
As I depict a picture of good health.
Dreaming of romance and armour clad knights,
While absently twirling my wedding rings.
Dreaming of places with beautiful sights,
While gazing over a view fit for kings.
Longing for somewhere that I can belong,
When I am surrounded by many friends.
Longing for relationships that are strong,
When their loyalty to me knows no ends.
But I must be thankful despite my pain,
That I have the luxury to complain.

I’m chasing that feeling of being numb
That sensation when I’m slipping under
Where I could either float or fall asleep
Can I get back? I can’t help but wonder.

A place that is better than happiness
‘Cos happiness is a place that won’t last
But the numbness can just keep on coming
And it can block out the pain of the past.

The weightless sensation of nothingness
Is such a blissful way for one to go
The gradual fading of the world around
Promises to banish your lowest low.

So can I be content to barely be?
I argue it’s greater than being free.