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Tony Tweedy Jan 2020
So, yet one more year is added to the pile.
Heavy laboured breath before going this next years mile.

Years put in my past that attest to battles I have fought.
Eyes that hold a sadness to reflect my deepest thought.

Years that blur as one I do endlessly compile.
With no pause or break to rest but just a while.

Never really finding what it was I sought.
Aged and withered visage from the lessons life has taught.

Untold years ahead lay hidden as I struggle upon this trial.
Trudging further on in a beaten, battered and weary style.

Days ahead giving rise to new reason to feelings so distraught.
Yet one more year, in the uselessness I find that I am caught.

Long forgotten days that once gave cause to smile.
Leaving ahead but sadness and mistakes to reconcile.
Shorter the road ahead than the one that lies behind.
Tony Tweedy Apr 2020
I will choose what it is I want to hear,
I will see only what I want to see.
Thus by doing so I can avoid facing up,
To what is now everyone's new reality.

I will believe what I have always done,
I will ignore all the hints of bad news.
Thus it is by doing so I can avoid having,
Unwelcome things I'd have to choose.

I will shut out all outside voice,
That threatens my imagined safe world.
Thus it is by doing so the glue will hold,
My version of reality wont then become unfurled.

Yes I will select all I want to hear,
and all it is that I may want to see.
By some fake  logic and false illusion,
The outside will have no reach on me.
Burying your head makes nothing go away. Sometimes fear needs to be faced head on. I don't like it either but sometimes it just is the only course.
Tony Tweedy Apr 2019
I walked this beach a thousand times and never was it as beautiful as when I walked it with you beside me.
I walk it on my own once more and its beauty is but the memory of when you were in my arms.
Tony Tweedy May 2020
I thought to tell a joke to lighten up and bring a smile to the day.
To bring a little laughter and set my words on out to play.

I started with the Englishman, the Irish guy and a Scot.
But someone called me racist so the first line was all they got.

I then started to tell of a woman in the guise of a blonde joke.
But no sooner had I started all the feminists did I provoke.

As I sought to carry on to bring a smile to someone's face.
I found that all types of what was humour today is out of place.

I find that I am judged a racist and even sexist or a homophobe.
And you can no longer laugh at women or talk of **** probe.

You cant talk of a shuttle **** washed up on a Florida beach.
And any joke about the clergy is well and truly out of reach.

I don't think there is a topic that the world finds hilarious anymore.
Unless that is why Trump was elected and what we have him for.
Not intended to offend. Simply an observation.
I continue to laugh at the things I find funny.... I recommend it. It is the best medicine (much better than disinfectant)
Tony Tweedy Mar 2019
Outside my door is a world where once I did dwell.
But through my window now I see a living hell.
I moved among that place and the people living there.
But now I cannot enter it without feelings of despair.
I cannot tell to you exactly what changed inside of me.
But I can no longer fit within the shape I used to be.
Did the window I once looked through view another place?
I ponder what I see and note changes to that space.
Outside used to make sense and I joined it with true lust.
But now it holds no value and no truths that I can trust.
Sometimes I have to enter there that place outside my door.
But nothing familiar awaits me there at least nothing that I saw.
The people there can see me and I feel their judging glare.
Always trying to remind me that I am alien when I am there.
When I get home and feel relief by the sealing of my door.
I make a vow to myself not to trespass outside space no more.
With much anxiety transpired through the yessing and the no.
When days have passed and once again to outside I must go.
So difficult to think of outside and I once dwelling there.
Opening doors and passing through seemingly without a care.
Passing through so many times in the blinking of an eye.
Not dithering and putting off as days and days go by.
To relate this sense to you may leave your mouths agape.
But its those things outside that dented me this new shape.
My original draft to create my account on "Hello Poetry". Previously untitled.
Tony Tweedy Jun 2019
Different shades of light that have passed before my eyes.
Casting shadow and obscuring things and covering up the lies.
How to see the good in things when light keeps them concealed.
To hope that light might shine and falsehood and fake be revealed.

How very hard it has become to see the light as good.
So many years younger was I, when to see it so I could.
I thought that I had lost the light and darkness had prevailed.
The simple truth is it was by light and shadow that I was assailed.

It has been the light that has often broached through my defense.
Open to love, light shone in and seemed to make some sense.
My eyes were in awe of light and my heart overcome with joy.
Only to find that light is used in lies and deceits own employ.

I no longer can trust the light or give it even some small chance.
No more hurt to my heart from light disguised as loves romance.
I cant escape a world where light by all is worshiped for it's glow.
So I'll live a life that is empty in this light I have come to know.
Too afraid to love again... some hurts just cant be faced again.
Tony Tweedy Jun 2020
Let your heart touch mine as mine craves your touch.
Let your soul feel what mine desires and needs so much.

Share with me in what only true love shares.
Share with me what only a joint soul dares.

Eyes for only you with mind and heart enslaved to you.
Come with me where devotion and love compels us to.

A universe with you as the light that guides my future path.
All who follow will know that passion and love is our epitaph.

My heart calls to you as it yet again repeats its lonely prayer.
Mind that feels the emptiness, but yet hopes, that you are there.
Tony Tweedy Sep 2020
I recall many years ago...
An acquaintance who through misfortune and misadventure had severed three toes from his left foot. Although he eventually recovered and adjusted to this misfortune he always walked thereafter with a pronounced limp.

Several years after this incident he had the further bad luck to be involved in a cycling accident and this time he lost four toes from his right foot. Once again with the aide of professional help and prosthetics he was able to adjust.

Although he made physical adjustment he could never let go or refrain from telling of these two incidents on every possible occasion. In my mind it became his key to acceptance and seemed to be his way of gaining some sympathy for his hard done by life. I became aware and felt quite ashamed of my lack of empathy and was alarmed at just how irritated I could become whenever around him. I determined that I should seek help of my own... to discover why I felt irritated so irrationally.

I consulted with my GP and explained the circumstance in detail. I related how over the years the more I witnessed his actions and attitude the less restrained I could be in his presence. I would become both agitated and borderline aggressive when he would enter the room.

My GP listened and after brief pause to ponder upon the story I related to him he reassured me that my reactions were quite normal and were not as uncommon as I thought them to be.
I asked him if it were a defined medical condition and did I have need for concern.
He replied.... "you are quite simply lack toes intolerant"
Sorry
Tony Tweedy Mar 2019
I live in the darkest of places,
it is here that I constantly dwell
Some would call it empty,
but to me its name is just hell.

So rare is there anything,
that enters here into my night.
But every so often I am tortured,
by glimpsed reflections of light.

I watch as light approaches,
feel its warmth inside of me.
Giving rise to both dream and hope
and the promise of things that might be.

I watch as light passes,
and bathe in its radiant shine.
Thoughts voiced by madness,
I look to the light for a sign.

As it draws nearer to my existence,
and knowing what I need it to be.
The light always unerringly diverges,
I now aware the light just didn't seek me.

I sit and remember the lights,
here in my own black little shell,
I look all about me at darkness,
knowing that light wont ever want hell.
two rewrites and still not happy.....aaargh!!!
Tony Tweedy Apr 2019
I sing an ancient song.
In voice once loud though now less strong.
The melody and chorus though of my own
To everyone at times is known.
In happiness yet louder in times of fear.
The question of why "I" am here.
The songs refrain passed along the line,
deluded that all its answers be mine.
But as has gone from times before,
The song will play for evermore.
Getting old.... yes **** happens.... but why? Perhaps 42* is as good as any answer after all. I certainly haven't found a better one.
* Douglas Adams... Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy
Tony Tweedy Mar 2019
Some of you write of love and its passion and softest touch.
Do you not know the savage weaponry of which you speak?
Has the blade never sliced 'til core exposed you feel nothing?
Have you never been lured by the soft whispers it entreats with?
And with a rage so harsh seen your very heart torn from you?
Loves romance with keys to fit your every defense leaving exposure?
Vulnerability you wouldn't volunteer in moments of sanity.
Of loves passion, it is a trap. So far will you fall when it springs.
A wound so deep is love that you will never feel whole again.
Tender caresses of flesh to captivate and weaken your mind.
Luring and dulling the common sense and with blade at ready.
You are drawn to that deceptive softness, the apparent warmth.
And yet still love is armed with throat and heart as targets.
Entrapped you give way to the hold of it, the thought of it.
Loves power will take your soul and crush it and leave it dust.
And yet like you I crave it still and insanity causes me to think....
This time love will be kind.
My only comment..... ouch.... very ouch
Tony Tweedy Mar 2022
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.
New love has a magic..... how rare the wonder.
Tony Tweedy May 2020
The fourteenth day of May approaches and skies are turning grey.
Forty years it will be since the cancer took you away.

You never knew your grand-kids or saw me take a wife.
But you taught me how to live and lead a decent kind of life.

The fourteenth day of May will always bring me oh so low.
It will always mark the first step on the lonely life I now know.

I try to push aside dark memories to recall only good times we had.
I think on how I yet miss you, still oh so proud you were my dad.
The first step to the lonely place I now live.
Tony Tweedy Jan 2020
When the voice of a seventeen year old girl holds more wisdom, sanity and truth than those who lead us.
When our leaders trade a prophet for a profit.
When there is easy money to be made from recovery rather than investment in change for the longer term.
When billionaires with vested interests set the policy.
Devastation and disaster, death and starvation have no political bias.
When will you add your voice and when will it be too late for you?
When eyes and ears give rise to voices that call out in fear for our very world will your apathy hold true?
Close your eyes.
Close your ears.
But even so your house will not be immune.
The whole world should be screaming.... for all our sakes.... raise your voices now.
Tony Tweedy Apr 2019
I think it truer that there is more than one light in the tunnel.
There are many exit signs... many corridors.
But... only one to which my key fits that leads to the light my eyes can focus in.
A tunnel can lead to many places... better the tunnel than a place you don't want to be, no matter how bright the lights may seem to others.
If such weren't so there would be no tunnel and my eyes would never have lost their focus.
If it holds no value you have taken a side corridor. Others can hold expectations that compel us to go through the motions.... all the while the tunnel is there. An unhappy and unrewarding life.
Tony Tweedy Jan 2022
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.
How a heart can bleed....
Tony Tweedy Oct 2020
In lethargies grip and restless mind,
I come again upon the day.
Where demons of my minds design,
find acres bare to frolic and to play.

An emptiness that invades my core,
until only black thought dwells in there.
Where tiredness is all I can feel,
and darkest depression is thoughts heir.

No calming thoughts to ease my mind,
and no safety can my lost soul yet feel.
The endless sensation of putrid stagnation,
no layers to other emotions have I left to peel.

Foreboding and deep weariness dark as shadow,
accompanies each thought and task within my day.
And though I seek escape by non-participation,
against thought there is no strategy I can play.

Turmoil to life's patterns of sleep and wakefulness,
where a soul and mind each attacks my own mortality.
Until left with just one clear and rational thought,
Of how simple and complete my final escape can be.
Winning just gets harder.
Perhaps this exorcism will help yet again.
Tony Tweedy Apr 2020
When young I believed that age and wisdom travelled hand in hand.
But as I grew much older I began to understand.
That what I had thought of as one of nature's golden rules.
In truth it is that as you get older, you just find much older fools.
None the wiser for it though....
Tony Tweedy Jul 2019
Is it mind or heart that craves the touch of love?
Is it born within me or come from God above?

And what fires this lonely burning rising in my soul?
What drives this sense of yearning for things to make me whole?

Why do I always feel half empty and always out of place?
Why when I close my eyes can I discern a feminine shape of face?

Why do I crave to fill these spaces so vast within my heart?
How flawed I truly must be, to be missing clearly, some vital part.

Am I meant to endure and ignore my hearts so empty call?
Or should I simply find a way, to not search for answers here at all?
Some journeys cannot be measured by miles or kilometers... they are too vast for such trivial measures.... too cumbersome for matters of mind, of heart, of soul. Where these things meet even light years are too small a measure. How do you measure loneliness?
Tony Tweedy Mar 2019
More often an optimist will see the goal, a pessimist the path.
If only we were both.
Perhaps that is why we seek not to journey alone?
Do opposites really attract? Is this what we really mean when we seek out our "other half"?
Tony Tweedy Mar 2022
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.
Even memories fade and become shadows of what they were.
The years erase thought the heart still knows that something was lost.
Tony Tweedy Mar 2022
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.
Even memories fade and become shadows of what they were.
The years erase thought the heart still knows that something was lost.
Tony Tweedy Sep 2020
I have called out often to you
and I have craved your intervention.
Never really sure if you exist at all,
I still sought for your attention.

I searched the faiths a many
and I have tried to understand.
What it was that I must do
to reach out to your open hand.

My faith has wavered greatly
as my time has ambled on.
Yet often did I pray to you,
though at times my faith had gone.

So many times did I reach for you
from the depths of my despair.
Hoping for some magic sign
that you were standing there.

I have looked upon the world and universe,
To see its beauty and its terrors too.
In some unseen and mystifying way,
these things all cry out a testament of you.

I have come to think that we,
are not at the centre of your plan.
Your universe so vast in purpose,
for the tininess of a single man.

Endless chaos and reconstruction,
on a scale that a lifetime can't comprehend.
Recycling endless matter,
on a path seemingly without an end.

Yet you gave me mind and time,
to see this snapshot of the plan.
Giving cause for hope that you can hear,
the prayers of this small man.
Twice in my life I was surprised to find a prayer seemingly answered. Too immediate to write off as coincidence.... though when faith is thin it is easier to believe in coincidence. Unanswered prayers also give rise to doubts. Oddly... even when faith is weakest and doubts are highest... I find I am more likely to seek intervention. Just saying....
Tony Tweedy Mar 2019
On such days black paint is all I need.
No shading reaches my palette.
No fine detail or delicate strokes of brush.
No intricate patterns of light to master.
No shapes to angle just correctly and in proportion.
No tones to give expression or perception.
Canvas of any size from white to black.
Imagery catching perfectly the mood.
These words the only weapon left to keep some canvas untainted.
Tony Tweedy Nov 2020
In streams of verse and congealed words or metaphors' twists and turns,
a poet paints upon minds canvas a view of where visions do etch souls with their burns.

Unique the transcribed observation to reveal the newborn vistas as witnessed there,
Perhaps to light the great mysteries of love and hope or uncover veiled shadows of death and despair.

With each new vision transcribed and the telling of what that mind has known,
Comes the realization by the transfixed readers that they truly are not so alone.

Shared idea, thought, hope and dream to which we can see and draw some link,
where poet reminds we are all but human and not as different as we so often think.
How many truly new ideas have you had today?
Tony Tweedy Mar 2019
Is life just a board-game dependent on some randomly thrown dice?
Are our lives as we see them or are we trapped like some fake mice?
Do we make our own way based on what we learn and know?
Or are we all just using time as we stumble onto "go"?
Do we ride on ladders taking paths we choose to make?
Or are we all just reaching to slide some fateful snake?
Are we just here to gather immense piles of materials and loot?
Or is that not just the most of all trivial of all pursuit?
Are we playing Ludo set on a board in which we roam?
And are all the other players just out to beat us home?
Are we but just players in an organized wordly mess?
Are we born to pawn or king on a battlefield of chess?
Perhaps you have had those times when you search for some life fix?
You roll your di as best you can but you just never roll a six?
Have you shared kind words with a friend going through life's crap?
And all the time your mind is thinking are we all just playing snap?
Is it all just winning at the ending of the day?
Or are important things the rules by which we choose to play?
Each seem on different boards as we struggle in the race.
No consistency of choice, in time, of hope, nor certainty of place.
What determines pawn or king as I stumble along my way?
And will I know if I'm fulfilled when my board gets packed away?
Tony Tweedy Mar 2019
I have a friend who is a surgeon a career of his decision.
Performing tonsillectomy and frequent circumcision.
Another friend who only meets with lepers lives by prostitution.
Both taking paths in life to live by their chosen best solution.
Both very different careers by choice and so many passing ships
Both surviving and living well and both taking lots of tips.
very borrowed ideas.... no doubt I am sick
Tony Tweedy Apr 2019
What day is it?....
Oh... !!!
Why couldn't it be yesterday?!
I survived yesterday.
Do you ever make a bad start to the day?
Tony Tweedy Apr 2020
The air lays still and lifeless giving no leaf a need to care,
No sound of passing traffic or kids laughter in the air.
Everywhere seems silent as if the world has lost its voice,
Even birds seem silent, bereft of song as if without a choice.

So eerie and pervasive is the silence right there outside my door,
Shouting aloud in its hush change to all things that went before.
Long periods of empty air, devoid of usual sounds I once ignored.
Leaving silence etched in mind where fear has seared and scored.
It says all I need it to.
Tony Tweedy Apr 2019
Offshore breeze of more bluster than steady.
Drawing white tips to waves of an emerald tinge.
White crested green seas surrounding.
Hands clenched to rail covered by misty spray.
Rolling and pitching immunized by the visions before young eyes.
Sky of pristine blue with radiant white wisps of cloud.
Horizons unending even where blue and green meet.
Two seals at play in the tossing waves.
Glistening grey bodies ducking and diving beneath breaker.
The prow through frothing ocean, pushing aside waves with ease.
Carving on steadily through liquid green and white anger of sea.
To the starboard horizon a darkening shape.
Bands of cotton stitched atop.
Drawing now noticeably ever nearer.
Almost by magic the horizons shape appears,
wind gives way to breeze.
Waters now at ease taking on more familiar and everyday hues.
White shapes astride the shore with tones that hint and suggest.
Now ever nearer becoming buildings and the buildings a city.
All the while the stitched cotton band reshaped to form clouds.
Blanketing perfectly the mountain called Table-Top.
Young eyes still locked in wonder, hands still holding rail.
Now docked along quayside, vast cityscape beyond.
Table-Top with cloth as backdrop.
About 3 hours of time compressed. Remembered vividly... retold unjustly.
Tony Tweedy Mar 2022
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.
How daft a man can be made when a beauty looks his way.
Tony Tweedy Mar 2020
In a world of isolation where I have come to live a solitary life,
There is hardly any trial in the new contamination dictated strife.
The way of things and even loved ones we will yet come to bemoan,
To face an uncertain future where we face prospects to yet die alone.
Where is the wisdom and the knowledge our boasting said we had
Seemingly replaced by irrational hoarding and a toilet paper fad.
There is no surprise in the reaction or that people do what they do,
Believing that this is short lived and good times can be returned to.
Fewer friends and loved ones than on the days before,
In a used toilet paper world, on a selfish, remote and lonely shore.
Be well... be safe. Whoever, wherever... do it with humanity and care or it is really all for nothing. If things are going to change then please find better and not worse. Make it a better place when you get there.
Tony Tweedy Aug 2019
I have stood out on a dark night with no cloud to hide the sky.
And allowed my pupil to focus to become a night time eye.

I have marvelled at the bands of pearl all strung upon the air.
And gazed upon the awesome beauty of the magic awaiting there.

Wisps of faintest cloud stretched through the sparks of light.
Shine like opalescent jewels against the blackness of the night.

Dark filaments and veils against the brighter bands.
That in minds eye give the illusion of fingers sifting sands.

On such nights I have raised a scope to see what I could see.
And have been astounded by the wonders uncovered there to me.

Stars so very distant and of every fiery shade and hue.
Some seem of yellow gold and some of the most crystal blue.

I have looked upon the clouds of gas remnant stars no longer there.
And seen the lustrous beauty of how stars die painted in the air.

Silhouettes of dark clouds that hide where new light is born .
Against backdrop much brighter seemingly blown apart and torn.

Lens turned to the blackness where my eye could see no sights.
Magnifying an endless field so distant of heavens burning lights.

Endless is the wonder and vast and timeless is the scale.
Out upon the universe where only light has time and speed to sail.
There aren't enough superlatives and words could never match it.
Tony Tweedy Aug 2022
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?
Why do we even harbour thoughts of immortality?
Tony Tweedy Jun 2021
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.
Tony Tweedy Apr 2019
Isn't it odd.... the scars in my heart have the same names as those who made my fondest memories.
Tony Tweedy May 2019
My life continues to end at seventy beats per minute.
Is existing the same as living?
Tony Tweedy Nov 2021
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.
explains itself
Tony Tweedy Sep 2019
Separated by half a world but united by their dream,
Two dreamers who would be lovers share in true loves theme.
In cottage upon a hilltop among trees in blossom their love stands,
Nightly, imagine being there together whilst tightly holding hands.

Each knows of the other dreaming love half a world away
Alternating as one loves by night and the other loves by day.
Thoughts so very similar of the love they wish to share.
Knowing that only by dreaming, together can they be there.

Imagined love by day and dreamed love to ease the night,
In mind alone, things that lovers do, tells each the dream is right.
Only by dream and imagined time there in that lovers place,
Can they know the others kiss and passion born of loves embrace.

And So nightly I will go by dream to that cottage on the hill
Where again she awaits and for our love, time is standing still.
It may not be everyone's dream... but I think its pretty good.
Tony Tweedy Mar 2019
Are we not all witnesses?
Are we not all victims?
Are we not all perpetrators?
Of the crime of ****** by life....
Tony Tweedy May 2019
There must be others going through what I'm going through.
This an attempt at conversation with those who feel as I do.

I live a life so empty and always on my own.
It seems so short of reality to describe it as alone.

The days are endless cycles that fade and become as one.
Looking to find some distinction when basically there's none.

Emptiness and lonely just doesn't tell it right.
And to say its isolation really doesn't describe my plight.

A world devoid of relationships of any type or kind.
Has left me with distorted disposition and an overactive mind.

I find days, weeks, months and calendars obsolescent things.
A consequence of every day repetitive in everything it brings.

I don't know how to stop it defeating me in this way.
For when I try to fight it all motivation drains away.

My life seems forever lived in the deepest sense of sorrow.
Knowing what I did yesterday and today, I do again tomorrow.
Tony Tweedy Mar 2019
Have you ever reached a crossroad in your life and with complacency or with fear of what left or right offers or entails, at high speed powered on, only to find it was actually a T junction?
Only then you realise that life has no reverse gear and that some walls are very hard?
Tony Tweedy Aug 2020
By degree I feel the present turning,
as the sun yet once more comes to rise.
Eastern sky that lightens by the minute,
as it pushes heavens starlight from the skies.

One more day upon the pathway,
of where time does bid the flow.
As if by gentle stream or sometime rapids,
and fate compels the path I come to know.

Uncounted I recall repetitions,
on so many long ago, half forgotten days.
Where relentless turning of the Earth,
would shine a light upon life's awaiting plays.

Once light that shone a wonder,
on mystery and promised dreams.
Abundant in every kind of possibility,
to overflowing like flooded streams.

The flow of fate and time,
that set love and dream out upon the flow.
Until only memory of such sunrises,
is all my heart can now hope to know.

The turning will go on forever,
and so too the coming of the light.
But even at this hour I sense the dusk,
and I can feel the closeness of the night.
Getting old.... reflecting... remembering. When life becomes a past and not a future.... or even a present.
umm... not saving properly again... let me know if you can see this.
Tony Tweedy Aug 2020
In a world where traits such as bigotry, greed, narcissism, non-empathy and some level of superiority (in ones own mind) are the key attributes to ensure success and some sense of purpose and fulfilment... I am less distressed than I should be to have failed at life.
I have come to appreciate simplicity and things that are genuine and wonder what reality looks like to the successful. Do they value a warm embrace and a soft kiss and the company of someone who likes them for who they are in the same way I do? And when (if) they feel and experience these things in a genuine way does their success still feel good when they reflect on what made them? Do they even reflect upon such things... or would they be less successful in their own minds if they saw themselves for who they are?
Can you be happy if your aspirations are something other than to love and be loved in return? Without these all is deception and you are both the deceived and the deceiver.
No matter how successful you are or believe yourself to be.... if you do not love and are not loved.... you have failed. Ask anyone who has a heart full of love to give but has no one with whom to share it. Nothing else can compensate or equal loves rewards.
Tony Tweedy May 2019
I tried to be what I am meant to be.
The shape the world tells me by shout.
And no matter how I fight at getting in.
My thoughts are turned back to getting out.

Did you see me fighting demons?
Did you note I'd left your space?
Do you know the wounds I took?
Or had I left you with no sign or trace?

Do you know the demon "black dog"?
Does it wait outside your gate?
Do you have strategies to fight back?
Or do you let the "black dog" decide your fate?

For now I keep the dog at bay
In early days it visited so much more
And though I am still winning right now
The dog seems so much stronger than before.

I don't think that deadly "black dog",
will ever allow me to get back in.
But each day I have the courage to chase it off,
I need to believe there is some reason for me to win.

It knows my thoughts and uses them against me.
And I know I will need to fight on so many days ahead.
I cant see a time when the dog will call on me no more.
But if I stop the fight ... the "black dog" will make me dead.
Tony Tweedy Mar 2019
ANY state of mind but despair is illusion.
ANY illusion is a deceit to oneself.
ANYTHING but despair is false.
Illusion will always be just a lie to give meaning to delusions.
To hide truths and ease the consciousness to false belief.
Reality is only evident when despair prevails.
When eyes can see beyond the masks and veils of the everyday.
Illusion and delusion are the common state in which we live.
The reality of despair is where truths prevail always.
Illusion and delusion torn aside.... despair.
The deluded have no idea just how lucky they are.
Tony Tweedy Mar 2019
By cold logic you arrive,
not through panic nor insanity,
for they are something separate.

You recall those who witnessed,
through blinded eye the beginnings.
Those seemingly oblivious of your falling to this place,
and who could offer no sanctuary or escape.

In your mind the inaction testifies, of a value you no longer hold.
Not just in your place of open eyed awareness,
But also in their world of illusion,
where you no longer belong.

There are two pathways ahead.
But only one will each choose according to their need.
Emotional pain made into the physical
Or the ending of pain both felt and caused, both past and future.

At the beginning and in the intermediate,
the times when cries for help prevailed.
Not consciously shouted but through changes,
altered interaction with the world as it once was.

To those who bore witness to beginning and middle,
at this stage comes the "why?".
"I saw it"...."Why did I not see this outcome?".... "I knew",???

To those who have not been here,
There seems to be no logic,
They cannot see from where they stand the simple rationale.
So contrary and beyond sight
that only the tag of insanity gives explanation.

At the beginners guide just so the numbers who sought to read.
At the intermediate a lesser number could give an interest.
The despair of others an unwanted knowledge and the readings so reflect a reality best kept unvoiced... too disturbing to the ear.
And fewer now here... dear reader... eyes uneducated still asking why.... you few are too late to understanding and by now despair has been defeated.
There are words I would have used but the site censors them for those who are not members.
The sad truth is that only those here through three "guides" will make any sense of my writings.
Tony Tweedy Mar 2019
I cant fight any more.... I'm done.
My own mind assaults me and it knows my weaknesses.
The gaping wounds in my thoughts are constantly re-opened.
I wonder which side of sanity I live on and I despair....
What if I am sane?
What if this is reality and my vision clear?
My refuge then must surely be insanity?
Or am I already there?
Tony Tweedy Oct 2021
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.
Somewhere.... someone.... must know the point of it all.
Tony Tweedy Mar 2019
How can it be that your words describe what I have seen?
How can the words you write describe the path I have trodden?
Bumps and hills, hurdles, smiles... how do you know them?
Are my thoughts, experiences all so openly seen that you have access?
Were you following, reading minds, perhaps spying or stalking?
Even my thoughts and emotions in precise framing in your words.
Are you me in some other form I have until now never seen?
How can you understand me and know me when we have never met?
You were not there when I lived these things. How can you know them?
Our pathways in different lands, at different times and yet you write me.
How can we share these footprints and yet never meet?
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