Monday, 8 April 2013

Stolen Sorrows

I wrote this poem because I've been thinking a lot about Matthew Shepard who was murdered in Wyoming in 1998 because he was gay. This poem is for him. But it isn't only for him. This poem is for everyone who had their lives taken from them too soon, for everyone who has lost things that are never meant to be stolen. This is a poem for everyone.

Stolen Sorrows

Stolen sorrows, stolen sorrows
Sold and squandered my tomorrows
Hearing the sigh of time slip by
Crawling towards the day I die

I stiffen at the sharp stab of pain
I hear him whisper with disdain
Stolen sorrows, stolen sorrows
Sold and squandered my tomorrows

I dream of a love that dare not speak its name
The disgust of a world that burns with a righteous flame
A black and gleaming, long and jagged scar
A voice so lost, I don’t know where you are

Stolen sorrows, stolen sorrows
Sold and squandered my tomorrows
You were the fool who threw away
The comforts held by yesterday

The barbed metal fence against my back
The never ending crush of fear
The blood that clings to all my face
Except the skin cleansed by my tears

They scream until I cannot hear
Until I cannot see the sky
Then leave me slumped, afraid, alone,
I cannot move, too late to cry

Stolen sorrows, stolen sorrows
Sold and squandered my tomorrows
I never got the chance to look
Or bargain back the days they took 

Friday, 5 April 2013

The Spaces Between

This poem is the result of a quote. It's a really awesome quote, it left me thinking. And then I wrote this. I hope you enjoy.

The Spaces Between

“And then the line was quiet but not dead. I almost felt like he was there in my room with me, but in a way it was better, like I was not in my room and he was not in his, but instead we were together in some invisible and tenuous third space that could only be visited on the phone.” - John Green, The Fault In Our Stars

I love the quiet places
The spaces between worlds
Between people
I travel through the third space
Reached only by the phone
A place that is quiet, but not dead
It hums with a constant vitality
Sometimes I hear things
A sharp excited breath
The steady ticking of a clock
Whispers in the winds
I smile the ghost of a smile
I think this is what time sounds like
And I find peace in the empty spaces
The quiet places
I picture beloved faces
And let them trickle away
A moment of silence
Two souls, alone, together
On the edge of a great truth
And then the moment is gone
Whisked away by the onrush of sound
Life continues its conversation
Floods the quiet places
And empty spaces
But I still have the memories
They visit me whilst I sleep
Soon forgotten
But never really lost
Never really there
But real all the same

Thursday, 4 April 2013

Blood and Honey

Why are human beings so fascinated with these two substances? Let me know what you think. I hope you enjoy :)

Blood and Honey

The searing heat of liquid gold
The ichor of alien veins
The trickle of nectar, imbibed by a bee
The indigo splash of an ink stain

The taste of frustration and salt in tears
The wealth and corruption of oil
The rose scented perfume, released in a squirt
The sweat born of terror or toil

Yet the liquids that enthral us
More than love or money
Is our fascination
With blood and honey

The symbol for family
Life, death and love
Magic and sacrifice
All course through our blood

The integral factor of every ritual
Used to summon gods and raise the dead
Prolongs survival yet life drains with it
Food of vampires, vibrant red

And oh the sweet and cloying honey
A thing of pleasure, wealth and lust
Oozing, sticky, golden, runny
Squeezed from nature’s stinging bust

Healing wounds and rotting teeth
Glazing apples, toast and cake
Drowning insects who fall foul of
A dripping sugary aftertaste

Wine so old it’s brewed in myth
Laughing soup that thinks you’re funny
None compare and none can bear
The deities of blood and honey