Melodies of my soul in soft dulcet tones,
play through my mind once more in the night,

Emotion vibrating through my very bones,
to keep me company until the mornings light.

Words in the shapes of harmony and verse,
that give voice to my heart in purest sound.

To speak of an empty lonely universe,
and of a love my spirit never found.

How can flesh endure when a soul cries,
in relentless voice, in such a sad refrain.

While lament will pass at suns early rise,
A lonely soul knows, the song will come again.

Over half a hundred years
and still I journey on.
At times I'm left to wonder
Where all the years have gone.

Memories that hold the proof
that this life was really mine.
Reflecting as I sometimes do
was it fate or predestined line?

Did I make real choices
that took me down this path?
Or did some cosmic scheme
shape every tear and laugh?

Is all I am and all I've been
of unique and individual shape?
Or was I made to be like this
taking part in manufactured jape?

If some hand does guide it
and I be but actor in some play,
What point in this life I have,
for it to be played out this way?

Of course there is no answer
that I can ever be sure to know.
So I just blindly journey on
to wherever this line might go.

Random course or predefined
my day to day follows every bend.
And over half a hundred years,
I am so much nearer to its end.

Walls enclose so many things,
and often have no doors,
a mind can have so many rooms,
without obeying spatial laws.

Dark or light the varied rooms,
where thoughts can play at games,
to fill mansions of many floors,
and tenants have unforgotten names.

Nights where faces come and go,
all marching from distant past,
but all were gone so long ago,
from the first face to the last.

Time that ebbs at varied pace,
as memory plays out the parade,
recalling all the ones once lost,
and those who never stayed.

Universe of lonely empty feeling,
all that memory has now become,
No sense of being yet still alive,
just a chill that leaves you numb.

A heart that once yearned for love,
of the promise that it can bring,
but yearnings perished long ago,
to become this sad and lonely thing.

I write these words today
in hope that you might find a way
to know what is carved
into my heart.

I've searched for you
my whole life through
in every town or place,
I've been.

I know somewhere you must be there,
a belief my heart and mind both share
and they've reserved,
a place for you.

Though I often dream of you,
dreaming is all that I can do
so I just carry on,
along my lonely way.

Please hear my pleading heart
so that we may start,
to make all those dreams
come true.

With this hearts lament,
I must be content,
to hope, that you
might love me too.

For wherever you are,
no matter near or far,
this lament is sung...
just for you.

Oh the things that my eyes have seen,
the many places walked I have been.

Upon peak and trough did I roam,
rarely knowing a place called home.

So many turnings along my way,
passing on through to seldom stay.

Staying as long as life allowed,
more times alone than in a crowd.

Beautiful faces that came and went,
both good and evil sometimes sent.

With words sometime of the softest kind,
echoing shrill calls yet within my mind.

Words once soft now turned to stone,
where faces vanish until left alone.

Upon road so full of twist and turn,
until a heart can no longer yearn.

Corners met that were never turned,
unseen paths that were never learned.

Future's short path left to travel on,
in time memory fades and it too is gone.

Things I was and all that I saw,
gone forever through the closing door.

How long then be there just a trace,
that my soul and I ever saw this place.

To dust and particles we all will decay,
those once met too will just fade away.

Until even memories of all are no more,
of a life full lived that no one even saw.

Nightly I dream of you, an image so bright and clear,
the warmth of your breath, in closeness there upon my ear.

Silk gown neck open, revealing a shoulder bare,
perfect pale flesh, draped by the tresses of your hair.

Arms reach for each other, as we draw into embrace,
a vision of splendid wonder, the beauty of your face.

Eyes that link as one as we look into the others soul,
until our lips are joined, and we become a spirit whole.

Each night I dream this, as it plays out just the same,
as you rise to go out, through the door by which you came.

How strong my heartbeat pulses, each and every night,
to give way to lonely heartache as I wake to mornings light.

There are but only twenty four hours in each and every day
though so often this seems untrue whether we work or are at play.
The measure that ticks the seconds to make the minutes,
to make the hours that so slowly merge and fade away.
Until memory and minds shadows, paint all with shades of gray.
Life's joys and countless traumas that by seconds come and go,
at the ticking of a clock, shaping for each the living we come to know.
Smiling faces joined in laughter or sad eyes so full with tears,
by second, minute, hour, day until time becomes our lived out years.
We journey in a search for contentment and for a heart to find its way,
passing dreams that fade as if but seconds and still hope of that one day.

I look again upon the sky as I have done so many times before.
To see the change of natures' palette as sun sinks beyond horizon's floor.

The blue of daytime sky and the wisps of white and mottled gray,
give-way to golden inlaid mauve upon red curtain as amber fades away.

Hues of golden yellow that were present short moments before,
now lost beyond the silhouetted landscape as if cast to distant shore.

Flame upon the heavens, cloud lit as if scattered, precious jewels.
Colours of natures palette so vibrant, disobeying all artistic rules.

silhouettes of birds in flight etched in black upon the fading light,
All traversing in rapid beat of wing, to seek shelter from the night.

Trees and distant vistas mere shadows where sun did slide away,
as palette welcomes the new nighttime bidding farewell to passing day.

How many days could I count that I have left to me?
Would I dare to count, knowing that finite they must be?

I know that there are far fewer than when it all began.
None the wiser am I, as to whether it was to some plan.

I find I have come to ponder the complex and the small.
To wonder if there be a purpose or just no point at all?

Why be given to the thoughts and give time to such things?
Looking for answers but deepest thoughts no answer brings.

Why give the imagining to some ethereal immortal goal,
and wrap it up so fragile in such a flimsy mortal soul?

Were there ever choices that I made as I took life's risk?
Or was it all pre-recorded on some universal Blu-ray disc?

I know the day's sun is setting, another day so newly passed,
Mortal mind taunts me, in the tally, will tomorrow be my last?

Lately I have had a feeling of a sense of deep foreboding in the air,
every time I stop to pause, to think, I can feel it just lurking there.

An all pervasive feeling that all things are not as they should be,
and I get an anxious sensation that it's effects are not just on me.

Colours of nature seem all faded and the air seems different too,
the sky is somehow much more ominous and appears a paler blue.

Even the birds I see upon their wing seem more skittish everyday,
and I wonder if they feel it too, does a dark fear halt their play?

I sense a tension in the natural order of these once normal things,
and my heart and mind are fearful of what message this all brings.

Like some silent siren wailing or invisible flashing hazard light,
my mind is filled with deepest dread and senses things aren't right.

Far too much time caught up thinking upon the portents that I see,
with each terrifying thought I pray for all, to hope that its just me.

Harmonies and melodies that accompanied my drift,
nursing wounded soul and often giving it a lift.
Moments when cords and rhythm took me the next mile,
so many old chorus' that could make my heart smile.

Songs and tunes that touched the moments I've seen,
to connect forever to people and places I've been.
Soundtrack to my life to record memories in rhyme,
taking me back as if I were some traveler in time.

At some lonely hour when an old track comes to mind,
stresses and troubles for a time gone and left behind.
Teleported by some in the moment pertinent track,
where a mind can find escape and be taken right back.

The music of who I am, of my soul that shaped my life,
at every joyous moment and every tumultuous next strife.
I play those old tunes and I sing so badly right along,
I can't help but  to do so, as its my life and hearts song.

Through mist of mind the thoughts again come lurking out of haze,
a time once given to a true love, giving rise to many blessed days.
Before a heart was torn and severed from my body's very soul,
a time where all of me was contented and felt complete and whole.

Seeming so long ago the memory yet not distant or younger past,
fates promise of true happiness, seemingly written in the di as cast.
Soft words yet still haunt me, once again tears run from my eyes,
as mind recalls the horror moment when heart learned all was lies.

Forever scared and left as broken, shards of who I was before,
no trust in love or hope, so never being able to be something more.
I cannot forsake the memories nor can I choose to hold them back,
for they always start at true love felt before launching a fatal attack.

The memory of that love I lost and the echo of mind "was it real?",
a soul will not let go that there was truth in how "true love" did feel.
So to keep the joy of love once known and how it should be still,
I have need for the memories that invade to hurt me at their will.

My heart remembers there is more than this.
It recalls there being something warm and infectious.
When the beat had purpose beyond mere survival.
A throbbing and pulsating that gave power to emotion.

My mind glimpses a past that held joyous moments.
It recalls there being sensation and a fire in my core.
When every dream and hope had shape and form.
A memory made and cherished immune to times' flow.

My body longs for the thrills it once knew when young.
It recalls the dexterity lost through its aches and pains.
When pleasures could be made through another's touch.
A yearning for something that ageing stole in the night.

My soul cries for the sake of heart, mind and body.
It recalls the strength of being someone made whole.
When joy, happiness and love were something real.
A time when life was all and ending was so far away.
Fragments I am become,
heart,
mind,
body,
soul...
Dismembered by life and time.

I thought to write a poem but no subject came to mind
and though I racked my brain not one topic could I find.

My head was full of nothing even though I had a need to rhyme.
But no matter how I strained it was quite simply a waste of time.

I sought to look for inspiration in the reading of a  new book
but I never really found it, despite all the time it took.

Perhaps I could find motivation in some TV and the news,
But that made me feel quite weary and so I took a little snooze.

Mind refreshed from sleep still no thoughts of what to write
and so it has remained through to these small hours of the night.

My desire to write a poem to entertain you as you read
has all come to nothing, so many hours later, I must concede.

A flash of light upon the sky
and dinosaurs were gone.
In a universe that knew them not,
and held no memory to live on.

Of ourselves our human kind,
we think the universe holds us dear.
Through time and vastness of it all
so doubtful it knows we're here.

So many things come and gone
forever changing it still evolves.
Too short is our human existence
to see how all of this resolves.

We think our kind important
a central purpose for it all.
But the universal scale of things
serves to remind our place is small.

We will never know its purpose,
and may never know if there was plan.
But rest assured my fellow humans,
our path will be as the dinosaurs
when the universe recycles man.

Again before an emptiness of soul, where all is fears.
Awake but mind devoid of light or any new ideas.
Crushing feeling of loneliness permeates the very air.
Every action taken or ignored devoid of simple care.

How did I become this decayed and empty thing?
Thinking daily upon miseries, so often days before did bring.
Distant, faded memory of the moments that made a smile.
So fleetingly they went to allow despair room all this while.

Worth? A sense of purpose long deserted, gone and fled.
Only a loathing and a pointlessness is left to fill my head.
Long days before today and for others still yet to come,
Without reason to be, certain only eventually I will succumb.

Like coats of paint upon a wall each day another layer smears.
No smiles, no joy, no hope just a face soddened by my tears.
Ever present darkness, shrouds of dark veils upon me, drape.
Calling increasing loudly that there is only one true escape.

If there were but some other place,
a place where shadows do not grow,
I would go to be there in that space,
where happier things I just might know.

Away from fear and hurt and pain,
and so many lonely, empty days.
Perhaps to see the sun's light again,
to feel a joy while my spirit plays.

If only just once more a time to see,
not how things are in my everyday,
but rather how things were meant to be,
before things decayed and went away.

Trapped in this unlit shadowed place,
of the loneliest and very darkest kind.
Forever lost am I, lost without a trace,
A prisoner of my own overactive mind.

There is no other place that I can go.
No other place to see...
there is no other place, I will ever know.
there's only me....

I stand upon a familiar shore,
of white sands and ocean waves,
looked upon so many years before,
you and I joined as true loves slaves.

Salten sea breeze fresh upon my face,
casting mist and haze like some dream,
where I see that other time in this place,
bound forever, or so it then did seem.

In this place I now stand so all alone.
as if drawn across rolling dark water,
to calmer days once warmly known,
before love like tide ebbed unto it's slaughter.

Days when loneliness was an unknown.
where sun was warm, and seas were still,
before any storm squall gales had blown,
or wave and wind wrought it's winters chill.

You alone were there to share my time,
I recall beauties smile upon your face,
beauty before tears performed their crime,
it was you that made this a perfect place.

But this sand now beneath my feet,
leads nowhere I would wish to go.
My memories now of loves defeat,
in a time my heart still longs to know.

Sand worn away and faded coastal dreams,
waves roll and ebb high upon the shore,
eroded memories by times cold extremes,
Never to know the beach as in those years before.

I stand upon a familiar shore,
of white sands and ocean waves,
looked upon so many years before.

Salten sea breeze fresh upon my face,
casting mist and haze like some dream,
where I see that other time in this place.

In this place I now stand so all alone.
as if drawn across rolling dark waters,
to calmer days once warmly known.

Days when loneliness was an unknown.
where sun was warm and seas were still,
so long before any storms had blown.

I recall your smile there upon your face,
and you were there to share my time,
it was you that made this a perfect place.

But this sand now beneath my feet,
leads nowhere I would wish to go.
My only memory now of  loves defeat.

Waves roll and ebb high upon the shore,
sand worn away and faded coastal dreams,
the remains of the beach,
that was ours before.

Carved in purest precious stone
so rare and undoubtedly unique.
Endowed with natures fortune,
the perfect Amulet of which I speak.

A talisman of unmatched power,
to ward every dark cloud from the sky.
So lustrous in its beauty,
that it just captivates my eye.

A something so uncommon,
to fire and ignite my imaginative mind.
So magic and so elusive,
dreams and hopes of such to find.

Glimpses of the wonder and the beauty,
that have caught me in their spell.
A desire to hold the Amulet,
my future and my fortune time can only tell.

If I could ride a white stallion,
wearing burnished armour of gold.
I would cross the high mountains
for my eyes on your smile to behold.

Across land scorched by suns fire,
droughts parched burning sand,
all this I could defeat and endure,
for a mere touch from your hand.

You have me captivated, enthralled
by means of your charm and your grace.
Entranced and passively subdued,
by beauties smile on your face.

How sad has become this world.
where poetry for a beauty is not news.
I behold the wonder and the beauty,
of my goddess, my passions true muse.

Whatever happened to the happiness,
from all those early childhood days.
Where laughter. joy and sunshine,
filled all of imaginations endless plays?

What became of the joyous music,
giving beat and harmony to the world.
When dream and hope could exist,
and all possibilities could be unfurled?

When did all this darkness fall,
to lay shadow so dark upon the lands,
as a dense foreboding that has been
summoned by greeds unsated demands?

When did dream and hope become,
just mere folly and wasted thought.
What happened to the morals and the ethics,
that as kids we valued and were taught?

When and where did all this go,
for everywhere I look such is just not there.
All has been replaced by a selfish world
of greed, hatred and down-trodden despair.

I know that in the course of time,
I am meant to see an old man's view.
But what worth and value of a world,
where hate and lies are sold as true?

Death and hatred fill this world,
in every rank corner that I see,
and in silent, desperate fear I wonder,
why we stood-by and let it come to be?

If you could but hold me I would love you.
I would adore every little thing that you do.
My skies would forever appear much brighter.
If only you will pretend that you love me too.
If you could but kiss me I would love you.
I would gift you all finery golden and new.
My lonely world could be much less empty.
Please say you can pretend you will love me too.

Today's that fill with memory of yesterday,
So many days of happiness and of sorrow.
And yet we wake each morn to dream,
That there may be better days tomorrow.

"Tis the eve before Christmas and nights silence abounds.
Darkness has fallen and only slight breeze to make sounds.
All down the quiet street each house light is now turned out.
Many hours since merry occupants were moving about.
Tucked tight in their beds are each young girl and small boy,
awaiting the morn of Santa inspired mirth and pure joy.
I sit crouched in the hedge my senses alert and aloof,
This year I'll get him before his reindeer ***** on my roof.

I reflect upon the season and memory of Christmas' past,
and I cant help but to wonder if this may be my last.

A thought not born of this season and its promises of joy,
but rather from the pained reflection I am no more a boy.

I think upon friends and family at distance from my day,
who I love so very dearly though they be so far away.

I find this season lonely, with a sadness now become its gift,
yearly every passing nearer to loathing has been my shift.

At an age now to be more a cynic than an optimistic man,
seeing only greed and commerce and not some godly plan.

A Christmas of my childhood, of love, good will and of care,
forever wish I for you all,
never knowing sadness and loneliness' despair.

Dark of night surrounds me, pillow below my head.
How long the many hours since I tumbled onto my bed?

Mind so filled with thought that clearly has me stressed.
Racing, scattered thought that just wont let me rest.

Blanket that feels loose and shifts to feel oh so tight,
and so it sets the pattern for this never ending night.

I know that I must sleep before the rise again of the sun,
in a world that cant relent from insistence things must be done.

My body urgent in its craving to be silent and be still,
but my mind just wont give in possessing the stronger will.

A discomfort on my left side, so I roll again to my right.
Countless repetition through the hours of a god forsaken night.

Nothing that I do brings a sense my mind is nearing calm,
I must try to get some sleep before clock sounds its alarm.

So the hours go, too many hours surely for just one night,
but too late now to rest as window reveals dawns early light.

Two hundred billion galaxies, trillions upon trillions of stars,
And to reinforce our insignificance we search still for life on Mars.

We look upon a heaven so vast there is no rocket we could send,
that in a hundred thousand lifetimes could it ever near its end.

Twenty billion Earths scattered across all of time and space,
stupid to think we could be alone and its all about this place?

For over nine billion years the universe survived without our sun,
is it real to think when we arrived universal purpose had just begun?

The universe did not wait for us its evolution just carries on,
and so it will be in future times when all memory of us is gone.

A thousands spires that whirl and dervish,
high upon the scorching currents in the air.
Across the empty desiccated wastelands,
so long parched without waters soft repair.

Like gyrating embodied souls rotating,
to lay scar deeply carved upon the land,
driving clouds of rock like pelting hail,
headlong until all is shattered into sand.

Flashes of lightening and thunders call,
clouds cast in iron, observers of the scene,
testament in muted light from up on high,
sole recall of still waters that once had been.

Desolate open and forsaken landscape,
where only wind gives motion to the world.
Leaden clouds of rain without a falling,
static charged clouds constantly re-curled.

How long ago it was that life had left,
its own scars and marks upon the soil.
until through life's' own achievements,
a once beautiful world was left to broil.

In that not so distant time when remnants
of the miracle that was life is erased and gone.
not one thing that we have ever seen or know,
nor memory of who we once were shall live on.

There's a music in my soul,
soft lyrics sound in my head.
Words I know so well,
about thoughts I've never said.

Like spirits on the wind,
grains of sand before the storm.
The harmonies in tune,
where the symphony does form.

Sometimes the theme it is so clear,
constant lilt and steady beat.
Stories of places I would go,
and people I've yet to meet.

Often I hear the cry,
of a soul that's lost its way.
Where thoughts hide in the night,
and my demons have their say.

Some would say its a sad song,
but it has a comfort when it comes.
With the violin song so clear,
and steady beat of muffled drums.

My soul is singing to my mind,
and through the harmonies they play.
To chase darkness from my thoughts,
until they dissolve all life's pains away.

Yes I love it when it sounds,
when that music fills my soul.
I can feel alive again,
spirit for a time completely whole.

Let your soul write your song,
listen and heed  its steady refrain.
Move along with it, where it leads,
as it comes to ease your pain.

What choices would I change if I started from anew?
What lessons from my life to change to see another view?

Would I make the same mistakes or choose another way?
Would I speak out just as loud at the times I had my say?

How would I react to the things I've seen men do?
Could I hope to be braver and help those it was done to?

Would I choose to stand when I saw the need to fight?
Would I still see the same things I do now as being right?

Would I still choose to hurt those I caused pain to?
Knowing that the choice once made is impossible to undo.

I know I cannot go back and do it all over from the start,
but if I did it all again, I would live it with a bigger heart.

Cast my ash upon the rocks and let them settle upon the sea,
for there upon that rocky shore is the place I choose to be.

Peace and tranquil summer days that I spent without a care,
where sound of wave and salted scents be carried by the air.

Weary are my bones with a soul of torments without release,
but on that shore my soul can rest and finally know some peace.

The lap of wave upon the rocks under the clearest blue of sky,
In the warmth of childhood memory my soul could finally lie.

The choke and mew of seagulls as they pass along their way,
solitary songs of disturbance to accompany the passing of a day.

For I am come to such an age to hear the appeal in this call,
to know both rest and peace and with no fear in it at all.

Twenty one thousand, nine hundred and fifteen days,
the sum of all my experience, all memory and dream.
Days of smiles and of laughter, scattered as they came,
interspersed with pain so deep my soul still hears the scream.

Accumulated time filled with things of the important everyday,
Through shifting hands of time all things came then hurried on.
By heart or minds good reasons were the choices that I made,
until now where no good remains and all sense of hope is gone.

My mind will sometimes force a replay of some echo of the past,
when hope and love gave purpose to a young man's dreams.
Twenty one thousand nine hundred and sixteen days,
more recent but so much later,
with a soul deafened to all but screams.

A God all alone in empty total dark,
had thought to start up creations spark.
To build upon that black empty view,
all those things his thoughts made anew.

Where and with what should he begin,
with only darkness there to keep it in?
Mechanics drawn from rigid Physics laws,
so time would carry out evolutions chores.

Only God alone right there at the start,
hydrogen made as if from some godly ****.
Clouds that swirled and time then congealed,
until mass and gravity his plan then revealed.

Ignition of that first ball of gaseous light,
that brought an ending to the longest night.
Deep in that furnace new things were made,
a realm where matter and time both played.

Changing substance and the shape and form,
by the passing of time and by cosmic storm.
All elements to make every building block,
of galaxies, liquids, gases and every kind of rock.

So the plan moves on at his chosen godly pace,
filling all of time and all corners of outer-space.
Ever changing all things into something more,
God all alone knowing what its all been for.

They tell of a land to the North
with misted valley's and of glen
Where red deer wild roam
as they make splash upon the fen.

Strong and hardy is the stock,
many with deep red hair,
Raised from their day of birth,
on naught but deep fried fare.

Custom demands of each a thrift,
and preservation of everything,
this all born out on coinage in pocket,
bearing the head of the last king.

They are true a hardy race,
of this many can contend,
and rumours abound all over,
of them tossing trees end on end.

So too there are tales of a legend,
that gives some despair to the soul.
that they smack a ball all over hillsides
until it falls into a wee hole.

Cultural music is a strong tradition.
and dance often accompanies that,
with much joy and merry festivity
to sound of someone neutering a cat.

An ancient tongue they sometimes speak
that gives cause to a certain lilt.
But ire them not for revenge is sweet
as they turn backs and raise their kilt.

Forged by one's own hand so sharp a blade.
Cast by the universes strongest powers.
A forge so intense in heat and fire.
Bonds as strong as any smithed steel.
No artery immune to it's strikes and piercings.
Vulnerability at it's every mortal ******.
Yet still we choose to love.

Why from singularity to universe
across fourteen billion years?
Then give me just but these sixty
in the company of countless tears?

Why is it I am here to witness,
the wonder of universal things?
Only to know I will never know,
what cosmic evolution finally brings?

Why am I born to a species,
that seeks to know all it can?
But then given such small a window,
I can never hope to see all it's plan?

Why evolve a sentient intelligence,
that looks far beyond Earth's ground?
To give each only such a short lifespan,
where all the answers can't be found?

Why congeal my eternal dust this way,
and then evolve me to conscious thought?
Where universe and evolution continues on,
my consciousness given time oh so short?

Why since the creation of all things,
has evolution had need of so many years?
Without simple insights and more answers,
to give rise of hope for a life of fewer tears?

Why the bindings of science and physics,
that dictate all that comes and goes?
Where time and space and matter,
are given restriction and order to their flows?

Why give me the power to think and question,
in this section of space and time oh so small?
Where rational thought must finally conclude,
humankind has no significance in the plan at all.

Another day of cloud and shadow,
has come to take up the stage.
Another sense of empty loneliness,
that so often fills my published page.

That feeling that there is no point,
no rhyme or reason to what I do.
Another day devoid of sunshine,
where dark shadow taints the view.

An ever present feeling of endings,
that assuredly a soul attests are near.
Desolation's discomfort behind my eyes,
seemingly compelled to fill with tear.

Mind now drawn from dreamless sleep,
to wakeful hours as empty as those dreams.
An empty world of loneliness and silence,
where thoughts become nightmare's screams.

Slow moving hands that count away the time,
days filled with shadow immune to every light.
Empty total vacuum unaffected by the hour,
despair, minds refuge in black deep as the night.

Somewhere in this world where darkness reigns,
all dream and hope took turn and lost its way.
So I close again my eyes to drift in dreamless sleep.
to hope that hope returns again some day.

I lie upon the soft field grasses,
and look up upon the blue.
To ease the mind to rest,
and let my eyes take in the view.

Vapour shaped by wind,
that drifts high upon the restful scene.
To float upon the pastel,
leaving no trace where it has been.

Shapes of white and grey,
like soft pillows in the air.
That by some subtle contortion,
transform, 'til naught is there.

Others drift across the daylight,
as if on some predestined course.
propelled across the sky,
by a breath of nature's unseen force.

I wonder where they go,
what bidding do they do.
As they glide along their way,
until far beyond my capsuled view.

Sun's warmth in temporary instalments,
as shadows come and go.
The shade and shadow's fall,
slightly cool all that is far below.

Through my eyes now closed,
of soft patterns I remain complete aware.
As warmth and slight chill mark the clouds,
that march upon the springtime air.

Through the journey of life,
I followed where my nose has led.
A majority of my story,
on pages now turned and read.

There is a change in me,
a need to seek some other guide.
For my nose at times has led,
to so many places where I cried.

So short the time remaining in my book,
I want to follow my own heart.
To smile and laugh again,
and let love and passion play its part.

Somewhere out there,
there must be a lover that feels the same.
Yet I don't know where you are,
and I don't even know your name.

I hold a passion and a love for you,
so vast it would cover all the sea.
My heart cries out for some reply,
who and wherever you may be.

I am both a repository of unused love,
and so very much all alone
So whomever you may be,
find me soon, life is pointless on my own.

Once again the sobbing of my heart,
drowns out thoughts of laughter.
And still the ache of loneliness tells,
there is no sign of what I am after.

Through ache of the soul and a pain,
deep in my damaged spirits broken core.
Everything I am and all of my being,
just longing for someone to adore.

There is someone for everyone,
I have heard people often say.
So why this dark lonely space,
my head cant make go away?

When you have love to give,
and there is no one there.
Until all your body can feel,
is darkness and empty despair.

How can you hang onto dreams,
or even make effort to cope.
Abandoned by love and alone,
knowing each day there is no hope.

A pain so deep and this endless ache,
so much love to give it cant be wrong.
Through hearts cry and souls pain,
Somehow I am meant to stay strong.

I can't

In a foreign land,
over two thousand years ago,
there lived a man,
whom the world would come to know.

Raised out of Nazareth,
his humble place of birth,
tasked with spreading words of love,
and of peace throughout the Earth.

Many were his deeds,
and so timeless and true his word,
that he changed the shape of the world,
for those who saw and heard.

He challenged the authority,
of those who then held sway,
by telling common people that through his Father,
there lay a better way.

Challenged by his word,
and fearing influence on the wane,
by deceit and lie,
they sought to take control back again.

Despite his deeds and truth,
evident in what he taught,
by deception, lies and betrayal,
he was rounded up and caught.

In a trial that found no arguement,
to undermine what he had said,
he was sentenced to crucifixion,
nailed on a cross until he was dead.

I am sure you know the rest,
of how on the third day he did rise,
and you have seen our world still battling,
against the hate and all the lies.

On this very weekend, remember,
this man from long ago I beg,
for there is much more to this remembrance,
than the chocolate in your egg.

Have you ever felt that need,
for someone to hold and kiss?
Have you wandered through the day
and felt something is quite amiss?

Have you felt it on empty days,
that cry of a heart's endless lonely pain?
Have you fought the thoughts aside,
to find loneliness still fills your brain?

Have you longed for that someone,
who can make the days worthwhile?
Have you wondered if some day,
once again you will recall how to smile?

Have you had those thoughts,
of someone to hold and touch?
Have you cursed you heart and mind,
just for wanting it so much?

Have you had loves good things,
seen them leave or pass you by?
Have you felt love's pain,
until all you have left is to cry?

Have you ever told yourself,
after all those times you cried,
that you don't need or believe in love.
Where in heart and mind you know you lied?

I thought to write a poem about the town where I do live,
a brief poetic description is what I had hoped to give.

I thought it would take but a minute, so very little time,
but I ran into a problem because Whyalla has no rhyme.

I thought to tell its history of ships and iron and steel,
but Whyalla hasn't got a rhyme at least not a word that's real.

There is an old story told of how Whyalla got its name,
it tells of two Afghan's asking their god why they even came.

I could have told of the bush that surrounds the whole of town,
But Whyalla not having any rhymes just really let me down.

There is nature in abundance and some very scenic coast,
but you cant rhyme Whyalla so I didn't stand a ghost.

It isn't everyone's idea of a cultural oasis or a hidden jewel,
I could have told you good things if poems had no rhyming rule.

I would encourage you to visit Whyalla, if you have the time,
it is really quite an amazing place, even if it doesn't rhyme.

It's just a small country town just part of South Australia,
but to sell its attraction via a poem can only end in... failure.

Have you ever sat until some part has gotten really numb?
It happened to me yesterday to the left cheek of my ***.

At first I didn't notice until I tried to up and stand.
What should have been so simple didn't go exactly as I planned.

Initially I rose ***** without any feelings of being sore.
But that changed quite abruptly as my nose impacted the floor.

I don't think I was down too long as the hurt still felt quite new.
Initial pain was somewhat lesser from the grogginess as I came to.

The doctor says it isn't broken and the redness will fade away.
I hope it is so tomorrow as it isn't feeling any better so far today.

For those there to witness much laughter was enjoyed by some,
as I crawled into the ambulance to avoid walking with half a ***.

Why seek to dream as dreamers do,
when only nightmares are the ones to come true?

Why seek a lover who soon may part,
leaving exposed bare soul and a broken heart?

Why seek to hang on to joy and hope,
when a mind is so tired in can hardly cope?

Why does my soul seek and crave such things,
I don't really know... lets see what tomorrow brings.

Over countless months by design,
a great firework he did make,
Constructed from lies and deceits,
and by turning all truths to fake.

Honest men of morals that believe,
that truth by righteousness will always win out,
By established rules and ethic as tools,
seek to quell the falsehoods shout.

They believe the pyrotechnician,
a fool of doubtful mind.
For they cannot see the plan he holds,
hidden by deceit of such evils kind.

Divided is the great citadel,
where once truth had walked without fear or care,
To become the protected sanctuary,
to the lies that now thrive in there.

He buys the time for his plan,
that has not altered not one bit.
While good men go on as before,
thinking they have hold of it.

All of this by his design,
since from too many days ago.
He has cast you all as characters,
in this his fatal show.

When martial law is imposed,
by the power you afford him still.
Remember that you had the chance to choose,
for truth's flag to fly steady upon the hill.

How can I feel the extreme pain of loss and deepest dark despair,
from something that reality affirms was never mutually there?

I loved you and my heart stands witness to every lie you told,
yet it is I who loved for real that is left to feel the frigid cold.

You made me feel both my very best and my very worst,
leaving my mind torn by memory that is both loved and cursed?

I remember how it felt and every dark and angry pain,
the feeling of tender soreness from every ache and throbbing sprain.

I remember ruptured internals and the fire of an appendix burst,
and the excruciating agony at every touch that was loudly cursed.

I remember the touch of many physical pains that left me feeling sore,
But nothing hurts so much as that last time you left my door.

Solid door seemingly so sturdy now tight and firmly sealed.
No hint from outward of hearts secrets, the mansion has concealed.

Many dreams long now vacated from the vast and empty halls.
Fragmented memories that hang, framed upon the fading walls.

The facade of many windows where no light within does show.
Seemingly no memory of love that this heart may once did know.

Like echoes upon the air the hidden memories ensconced in there.
Until echo fades to nothing and empty sadness taints the stale air.

Tortured walls in hallways that peel, are rent with unfilled crack.
Memory that time has worn and eroded as only time can lay attack.

No hint of any joy or laughter left within this mansions frame.
No face of beauty even in memory by which love recalls her name.