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 

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

Invisible

Tenuous

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

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