Life [In All Its Glory]

Spending too long in a world
Of stone and glass, you will
Forget life's more simple pleasures.

I'm not talking about standing and
Staring, no. Nor will I make any reference
To daffodils.

But show me someone who does not
Find a sort of pleasure
In watching a bonfire burn.
The smoke rising and writhing
With the gentle wind,
Rearing up as a snake before
Sliding away through the long grass
And the trees.

Find me a person who would not
Want to pick a fresh apple from a tree
And eat it, knowing they'd helped it grow.
After all, although a fruit caused Adam
And Eve's untimely exit of Eden,
There is nothing to be ejected from here
So let them eat.

Would it not suit any man or woman
To be able to lie on soft moss
And gaze at the sky during a clear night?

So Davies can have his time
To stand and stare.
Wordsworth may wonder
Among his daffodils.
Give me a fire and an apple tree
And I will show you the true pleasures
Of life.

Stab A Young Heart

You told me once or twice
That it was all OK.
That it wasn't a big deal, what we did.

Well I disagree.
To me, it was something.

You forget, I think, how young I am.
Or was. I've certainly grown up since then.

In young hearts,
Cupid's arrows leave lasting scars
If they shatter.

But not to worry, I don't hold it against you.
After all, to you it was no big deal.

And who can blame you
For thinking so?

To you I was just a boy,
Nothing new. Nothing special.
And you may have thought you were just a girl too.
And who could blame you?

Lost At Sea

The waves come crashing down

As my mind is carried on a sea of emotion.

Thoughts fly around as gusts of wind,

Billowing the sails.

My compass does not know which way to point,

It is confused by the writing mass which surrounds it.

All hands, man the deck!

Keep her steady!

But the only hands on the deck of my mind

Are my own.

And these hands cannot calm the waters

As Jesus once did.

They must simply try to keep this ship afloat.

Man the rigging!

Hoist the sails!

Alert the captain!

But I am the captain,

And the hands on deck;

The first officer,

And the chief engineer.

This is my ship, and this ship is me.

With a snap the mast breaks and crashes into the deck.

My hands are trapped, and without them

The winds of thought and waves of emotion

Will capsize my once proud vessle.

Now it is sinking into the depths..

Down..

Down..

Down.

11 Days

Day 11,

Counting down and saying my last goodbyes.

It's ironic; everyone seems to be leaving before me,

But I'm the one who's going away.

I'll miss these people, these friends.

And I know they'll miss me.

Day 10,

I'm standing before you tonight for the last time,

Squeezing as much time in with friends as I have left.

Dancing, shouting, generally having a good time.

These are the times I want to leave behind,

Memories of carefree nights when we ran in the rain.

Day 9,

Writing letters of application

Which I've been putting off for far too long.

Hope to have a job waiting for me

When I get back. Or at least some voluntary work.

Day 8,

Last time I'll play around with the guys

At Battle & Brew; if they even want to go.

Cramming in as many kills and points

As I can handle in one night.

Day 7,

Packing begins.

This is by far the most daunting task.

Moving the entirety of my worldly goods

Into one, very big blue suitcase.

I'm not looking forward to day 7...

Day 6,

Packing continues;

Or rather, packing starts after on day 7

I took one look at my room and decided I was

Too tired.

Day 5,

Packing becomes complicated as I run out of space.

Perhaps neatly folding the clothes was a good suggestion.

Room returns to general state of dissaray as suitcase

Is emptied.

Day 4,

Take a break from packing

To wish farewell to anyone who is still in Atlanta.

Although most everyone is gone already,

I am sure I'll find someone to distract me from that suitcase.

Day 3,

Pack, pack and keep packing

Until everything fits and anything that doesn't fit

Goes into storage. Whatever is left behind

Is thrown out.

Day 2,

Return all those video games I've borrowed.

Apologize for having only just gotten round to it,

But explain that I was busy. Packing.

Sell Xbox to friend. Hope to dump some games on him too.

Day 1,

Mope around in general bordom.

Said goodbye to everyone,

Packed and re-packed everything,

Nothing left to do now but sleep for a final night in my large IKEA bed.

Final Day,

Boarding the plane.

Goodbye, America.

You shall indeed be missed.

Mistakes Are Made

Thunder crash

And rain down lash

Onto her seared skin.

See her as she stands

Blood running from her hands

And the water at her feet turning pink.

Do you see, she cries,

Tears run from her eyes

And the salt mixes with bloody rain.

Watch her fall down

At the eyes of his frown

And she lies in the dirt and stones.

She thought he was the answer,

But he was nothing but more questions.

Will she ever learn?

Living Alone

Nothing really moves,

Except a raising of the ring finger

And a slight deinclination of the head,

As he pours the warm substance

Into his mouth and down his throat.

His eyes remain open,

Twinkling and blue as the sky

If only it were a little less cloudy.

He set down the mug and tugged
At his matted hair while staring into the day.

The window set the grass at eye level,

And he had to lift his face a little higher

In order to glimps a sparrow,

Feeding busily from the seed speinkled on a wooden shelf

Some three feet off the ground.

It was that height so the cats wouldn't try and jump it.

He yawns and looks up at the television set

Which is telling him about all the kids

Who were involved in fatal stabbings in London.

He doesn't move much at all.

Just sips his tea, feeds the birds

And watches the evening news.

Space Time Convergence

A dark alley,

Paintings hang on red walls as drinks are served to a restless crowd who stand in the revolving door to a grand hotel with a million floors and two windows on a little wooden cottage in the middle of the forest a bear is catching a salmon with his claws, his head on display as a trophey in a big house where a little boy sits in the street begging for money.

A cow eats grass in a field of deserted buildings where squatters make their pizza, served hot from the fiery depths of hell the Devil pays a visit to the dentist's chair, where ice-cream trucks make their rounds and children line up to ask why the parents must always argue and fighter planes rip through the sky is blue, such a lovely day breaks and with it goes my breakfast which is getting cold as it sits with his hat at his feet pleading with his mother to let him have one more chance is all he will get, after that he's definately more of a mourning for the loss of a friend who's life was as bright as a dark alley.

And so the world turns.