I'm Scared

I didn't know how else to title this,
So I went for the route of honesty
Being the best policy.

Something is scaring me.
The most terrifying bit is
That I have no idea what.

Something is making me shake.
Whatever it is, my hands are trembling.
It's in my head, in my heart,
I can't ignore it,
Or think past it.

And since I don't know what it is,
How can I fight it?
I won't let it win,
But as I write it becomes less likely
That it will lose.

Tunnels

Everyone faces challenges
And burdens
In their time on this earth.
Some people visualize these
As locked doors
Or holes.

I see tunnels.

Tunnels, by their nature,
Are dark things.
Long, and foreboding,
They can be true monstrosities
Of the psyche.
They can stretch on almost infinitely.
They can meander and trick you,
Turn you around and put walls in your path.

But the thing about tunnels
Is that there is always,
Somewhere,
A way out.

It might end up being the way you came in,
Maybe you got turned around one too many times.
It could be one exit out of many you had,
A conscious choice to take your own path.
But most of the time there is one way in,
And one way out.
Those are the hardest tunnels.

They may even be perfectly straight.
No turns.
No tricks.
No hazards
But their length.

Sometimes the tunnels are so long
That you walk,
And walk,
And walk
For years without even glimpsing
A light at the end.

And then,
All of a sudden,
Something clicks.

A light appears.
Someone stands beside you.
The end is still some way off
But now you can see it.
You have a new courage,
A drive to push you through
Those last few
Devastating steps.
And you have someone next to you.
Someone in the same tunnel,
Taking the same steps,
Reaching for the same goal.

Someone who can reassure you,
Someone you can talk to,
Someone who knows the path ahead,
Someone you can warn about traps,
Someone who cares for you.
Someone you care for.

Eventually, the tunnel ends.
Maybe you'll both go
Your separate ways,
Leaving nothing but smiles
And happy memories,
Notes of thanks drifting
Through the bright air.

But I don't like parting so soon.
I like to take someone's hand,
And say,
Look.
I wonder where this path
Will lead.

Home Away from Home, away from Home, away from Home...

Shadows creep and cluster and twist and dance
Around my head,
Dancing to some unknown rhythm
They swerve and dive
They kick and scratch
They try to swallow me up.

How do I get out of this?
Find the problem, and a solution shall be made clear.

Love.
A light flicker of a shadow which sways and jumps
Inside your heart. It will make you hate yourself.
It will have you fear the world.
It is cruel, and yet,
Beautiful.

Sorrow.
The other shadows will leave this in their wake,
A trail of doubt and loathing which,
In the correct quantities,
Can kill.
It does not act alone. You must help it,
Nurture it and allow it to thrive,
Then it will turn against you
And you cannot control it.

Loneliness.
A shadow that curls and coils itself around you
Like the cold embrace of a long-gone lover.
It feeds on memories of friendship;
Of those nights spent curled up together,
The days squandered strolling hand-in-hand,
All these and more it takes and it swallows
Leaving a darkness in the sweetest of dreams.

Gravity.
For if the force were not within us,
These shadows could not manifest themselves,
They may simply float away.
But without the pull of life,
So too would we lose our dreams,
Our desires,
Taken on the breeze.

Perhaps,
Mayhaps,
There is a possibility that no true solution exists.
That if we were to give up the burdens of our
Existence,
We should also be throwing away the
Humanity.

Hope.
At once a brilliant light, but casting the darkest shadow.
A force far greater than any other,
And far more devastating.
We must cling to this, hold on
Will all our might.

Because it creates the light and the darkness
Which make us whole.

The Emptiness

The smooth stones click and tap beneath her feet,

Like pool balls crashing across a marble table.

The wind pulls at her hair and bites her bare neck,

Icy teeth driving into her veins.

The grass surrounding her is pale gray,

A barren landscape of ash as far as the eye can see.

Ahead, her vision is cut short by a mount,

A hurdle which she must eventually cross,

Which seems to grow with every step.

She looks back for clues in her past,

Any flicker of hope or refuge.

But she is pursued by a swirling black mist,

Forcing her to look forwards towards a distant,

Bleak, lonely future.

She calls out,

Asks if anyone will join her,

Walk this path next to her,

Call it an adventure.

But all she hears are empty promises,

Familiar excuses,

Silence.

She falls to the ground,

The cold lashes at her,

The smoke draws closer,

As her single tear falls

So do the first flecks of rain.

Who will see a girl crying in a storm?

It's A Metaphor

Skimming pebbles never gets old.
You rarely tire of watching stones
Skip across a still body of water.

Any stone will skim,
But everyone has their type.
Most of them, you lose to the water
Not worth going back for.

But now and then you pick one up
Hold it in your hand
And never want to let it go.

You skim it, it flies across the water,
You run in, chase it down,
Search through the water,
Clutch it in your cold hand,
Put it in your pocket,
Feel it there,
Next to you.

You skim it again, and again,
Each skim better than the last,
Always making sure you keep it.
Your stone.

You run, you tell your friends,
'Its perfect,' you say,
'Never another like it.'
You reach into your pocket,
Keen to gloat,
Eager to boast,
Your hand clutches..

Nothing.
You search.
Maybe your other pocket,
No.

Its gone.

Gutted.

A Pale Sphere

The moon floats over the black sea,
A pale sun elipsed in whispers of cloud.

It dances over streetlights and fire sides,
Dips as if to skim the surface of the water
Before leaping up to claim its place.

A watchful eye from the heavens,
A beacon for the after-dark traveler.
A ghost with a deathly aura.

And like a spirit bound for hell,
It is gone.

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Incandescent Adolescent

The room was heavy
With warm adolescence.
Each one of us sat there,
Self-conscious, brushing back
Our ever-greasy hair in an
Effort to stay awake,
To feign interest and
Attention.

Every question met with
Blank faces, the occasional
Raised eyebrow or shake of the head.
We glance at one-another,
But never hold contact.

So many faces, each with
A name and a spark
In the imagination.
The seconds pass and words
Flow like treacle through
Our minds and voices.

This prison cell has windows,
No bird could roost on their sill.
They reveal nought of the world
Except that the sun is slowly setting
Behind us.