The Writer

The writer writes by dim candle light
About the shame that haunts his lonely nights,
The writer writes by the open window
As the breeze threatens to further his woe,
The writer writes in an effort to prevail
Against the sirens that in the distance wail,
The writer writes about the turmoil
That has come from a greed for spoils,
The writer writes all through the night
Until the coming of the first light…

The writer’s pen is his only friend
And it will guide him until the end,
The writer’s pen is his cherished escape
From the cruel world’s jibes and japes,
The writer’s pen is his shameful addiction
That comes without a doctor’s prescription,
The writer’s pen scrawls about how
Its owner struggles in the here and now,
The writer’s pen is a gift and a curse
That can make things better or a whole lot worse…

The writer’s soul was once whole,
Writing about ambitions and goals,
The writer’s soul was once caring,
Writing about the love he was sharing,
The writer’s soul was once adored
By those he once held close to his core,
The writer’s soul was once the framework
He used to access the place where shadows lurk,
The writer’s soul is now a token
Of the life that has left him broken…

The writer’s writing is terribly frightening,
It scares its readers into hiding,
The writer’s writing is restrictively depressing,
It prevents cut throat emotion expressing,
The writer’s writing can make one cry
Because of the metaphor of the word ‘fly’,
The writer’s writing can make one drown
Beneath thoughts of loss and life under the crown,
The writer’s writing is his be all and end all,
His only way of recording his downfall…

The writer has committed no sin
In writing about a life yet to begin,
The writer has committed no atrocity
By living a life in absolute animosity,
The writer has committed no acts
That should cause faith in himself to be lax,
The writer has committed no theft
Of literary works more deft,
The writer has committed but one crime,
That is of being born in the wrong place at the right time…

And Again/I Say No

And here I am again,
Square sweet square,
Telling a half truth
To escape future despair,
And despite the minor honesty,
I find my vision narrowed
By the thing not let go
Caused by feelings arrowed…

So this is set in stone,
This ache at my heart’s pit,
No ice or cold
Will freeze or defeat it,
She knows everything,
Yet desires nothing from me,
So now I must lose the ball and chain
That stops my being free…

The silence of solitude is sweeter
Than the freedom of exitlude,
But emancipation brings permanence
Solitude only dreams of…

And my home is a prison,
Locking me away with my feelings,
They haunt me night and day
Mocking my misgivings,
She wishes only to be pleasured
By someone who isn’t me,
So this pitiful struggle
Is pointless I now see…

Shaking tells me to give in,
Heart’s wish is mind’s command,
Fighting will bring more pain than joy
So walk away heart in hand,
It can be reused someday,
Maybe not tomorrow or the next day,
But sometime soon, I say,
When I’ve overcome this inner dismay…

The silence of solitude is sweeter
Than the freedom of exitlude,
But emancipation brings permanence
Solitude only dreams of…

The silence of solitude is sweeter
Than the freedom of exitlude,
But emancipation brings permanence
Solitude only dreams of…

But I say no.
But I say no.
But I say no.
But I say no.

(this is a song, very simple, to the point, but I quite like the chorus so I've included it here - also, the fact that I've managed some measure of control the words when I really just wanted to rant and rave is another reason for its inclusion).

The Times

Times are hard,
The country’s on its knees,
People start to fall away,
All the while I hear you pray
“Let me keep my job this winter…”

Bread and milk are the priority,
Food for the children is a must,
Luxuries’ are no more,
As the winter gets colder
Warm clothes need to be found…

Into the local shop you go
To get the perishables,
You thrust your hand into your pocket,
Searching for the coppers,
It’s all the money you have…

But there’s nothing in your pocket,
Panic takes over,
The shopkeeper takes away the perishables,
“I’ve been pick pocketed, I’ve been pick pocketed!”
But it makes no difference…

You turn your head wildly around
To find who it is that would do such a thing,
Every face is as guilty as the next,
Yet you can’t bring yourself to point the finger,
You leave the shop, empty-handed and broken…

The two ministers snicker slyly in the corner…

The Robin

Autumn leaves fall to the ground,
Stormy wind, the only sound,
Branches sway wildly in the breeze,
Flowers preparing for Winter’s freeze,
A robin swoops down over my head,
Enticing me with its shimmering red,
I follow it for reasons unknown,
I pray my faith in it is shown…

I’m walking along a wet pavement,
Turning over numbing sentiments,
Watching children fight the weather,
Watching the fall of pieces severed,
My head’s in the clouds, yet still bowed,
Surrounded by a dark shroud,
I’m carried by blind faith, not by thought,
Yet, I’m also carried by every thing so fraught…

I leave cityscape and come to a forest,
Hoping to rediscover what it means to be honest,
I’m drawn to a dried up riverbed,
While thinking of loved ones living and dead,
I see my reflection in its only patch of water,
But it dies; no other ties were shorter,
I follow the robin up a rising hill,
My feet are moving at their own will…

They stop beside a raging waterfall,
The icy depths begin their call,
Looking back, I see treetops in line,
Looking forward, I see a simple sign,
Looking up, I see the robin fly away,
Looking down, I see the end to my day,
I close my eyes and gravity takes hold,
All is dark now and permanently cold…

The Past is the Present

In my mind, the past is the present,
Nothing about my feelings has changed,
This could be seen as being romantic in an unromantic world,
Or it could be seen as being completely deranged…

Moving on is as tedious as fighting for her back,
I’m besieged on all sides by my own confusion,
I end up spinning in pointless circles,
In an effort to find the hidden solution…

All the while, my heart’s beat is no different,
Even though we ended what feels like centuries ago,
While my feelings are still chained to your heart,
Her feelings are on permanent show…

My life ceases to move, while hers continues to live on,
Her life is lit still, while she has stolen my shine,
I know her heart has been given to another already,
Now I need to find someone else who’ll gladly receive mine…

Even though I’m not ready yet to forget the past…
As I think it’s the present and I think I can make it last…