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Stupefied
I sit
Stupefied
Seeking solace
From shame
The silence
Is no longer safe
Secrets seep
From the shadow
Slowly I find myself
Surrounded
My sanity siphoned
Into stillness
I sit
Stupefied
Seeking solace
From shame
The silence
Is no longer safe
Secrets seep
From the shadow
Slowly I find myself
Surrounded
My sanity siphoned
Into stillness
This poem is from the book, ‘A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken’.
Read more from the colleciton, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.
The Cave
Once
When I was a young boy
You yelled at me
Objectively
It wasn’t much
But it was enough
That night
I built a cave
Inside my mind
One that overlooked
A lake
Whose water
Perfectly reflected
The beauty
Of the nature
That surrounded it
The cave was secret
And strong
And safe
The lake was still
And soft
And serene
I quickly learnt
To hide in that cave
And to gaze upon the water of the lake
Loosing myself
In the reflection
Of a false reality
Made real
By fear
You never yelled at me again
In fact
We never really spoke
At least
Not about anything that mattered
As you pulled away from me
I found solace
Sitting in the cave
Whose creation you inspired
I’d look at the lake
Wishing
You’d appear
Wishing you would
Say
‘Son, won’t you come swim with me?’
But you never came
Later
When I left home
You didn’t fight for me
You didn’t speak or even acknowledge
My absence
But you did leave a mark on my mind
That cave
Is now haunted
By the silent screams
Of the words
You left unsaid
And that lake
Still has ripples
From the rocks
We never thew
Together
The beauty of nature is obscured
By your indifference
And
I no longer
Have anywhere safe
To hide
Once
When I was a young boy
You yelled at me
Objectively
It wasn’t much
But it was enough
That night
I built a cave
Inside my mind
One that overlooked
A lake
Whose water
Perfectly reflected
The beauty
Of the nature
That surrounded it
The cave was secret
And strong
And safe
The lake was still
And soft
And serene
I quickly learnt
To hide in that cave
And to gaze upon the water of the lake
Loosing myself
In the reflection
Of a false reality
Made real
By fear
You never yelled at me again
In fact
We never really spoke
At least
Not about anything that mattered
As you pulled away from me
I found solace
Sitting in the cave
Whose creation you inspired
I’d look at the lake
Wishing
You’d appear
Wishing you would
Say
‘Son, won’t you come swim with me?’
But you never came
Later
When I left home
You didn’t fight for me
You didn’t speak or even acknowledge
My absence
But you did leave a mark on my mind
That cave
Is now haunted
By the silent screams
Of the words
You left unsaid
And that lake
Still has ripples
From the rocks
We never thew
Together
The beauty of nature is obscured
By your indifference
And
I no longer
Have anywhere safe
To hide
This poem is inspired by the book, ‘How To Write Evocative Poetry’.
You can read some chapters from the book, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.
In Your Absence
I can’t quite express
The confusion and the mess
That’s been left
In your absence
Why didn’t you confess
The demons that had you possessed?
Why couldn’t you
Escape the thoughts that had you depressed?
Why was this the only way you could address
The aspects of life that you detest
that had you dispossessed?
Perhaps if you got some of it off your chest
The world wouldn’t be one man less
One man that blessed it with his presence
Now all who knew you are left to digest
News of death’s caress via a self-inflicted process
We can’t protest
We can only attest
To the pain and existential unrest
Of the hole your life has left
This poem is from the book, ‘A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken’.
Read more from the colleciton, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.
sertraline
medication?
more like calcification
the myopic solution
replacing anxiety
with apathy
losing focus
focusing
on what i have lost
my thoughts
circle the drain
both hope and fear
falling in turn
i am lost
a rudderless raft
left to drift
upon a dead calm lake
fog obscures the bank
fog obscures desire
i am far too calm
to stay safe
life and death
seem equally desirable
i drift
cold rationality
the last remaining
life preserver
the small subtle voice
whispering
that this too shall pass
the sun will shine
the wind will blow
and i will have purpose once more
This poem is from the book, ‘Poetry from a Dark Night of the Soul’.
Read more from the colleciton, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.
i float
the vastness of the ocean
has been replaced
by the safety of a kiddy pool
i float
under a lifeguards watchful gaze
passively accepting
the artificiality of my confines
only vaguely aware
of a time
not long ago
when I could look upon the horizon
and feel the sun upon my skin
memories
of riding atop the waves
both terrified and exhilarated
by nature’s limitless beauty
have been replaced
by the scent of chlorine
penetrating my nose
and irritating my eyes
but I don’t care
i am lulled by the warmth of the water
and comforted by the knowledge
that soon
i will forget
the taste of salt water
and the thrill of that first plunge
into the depth
of the ocean’s
infinite embrace
This poem is from the book, ‘Poetry from a Dark Night of the Soul’.
Read more from the colleciton, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.
apathy
there is something
uniquely terrifying
about watching your emotions
dissipate before your eyes
witnessing the fear
of your fear falling away
itself fall away
into the abyss of apathy
leaving nothing
but a gentle malaise
and a question
you don’t care enough to answer
is it worse
to feel pain
or to not feel anything
at all?
This poem is from the book, ‘Poetry from a Dark Night of the Soul’.
Read more from the colleciton, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.
The Point Of Trying
What’s the point of trying,
When my efforts leave me crying?
When my thoughts circle dying?
When I think everyone is lying?
What’s the point of trying,
If my bravest act is complying?
If it’s the deepest truths I’m denying?
If even greatness is unsatisfying?
What’s the point of trying,
When I’m constantly self-denying?
When a simple conversation is terrifying?
When depression is positive identifying?
What’s the point of trying,
If angsty poetry is all that I’m supplying?
If my mental state is all I’m edifying?
If an internet like is the peak of gratifying?
What is the point of trying,
When my legacy will be horrifying?
When my body will be mortifying?
When the result will be mystifying?
Yet I am trying.
Trying to be the one supplying a way to express the horrifying. Cause there is no denying, the thoughts of dying are mortifying, but also mystifying and strangely gratifying when you find that justifying the days spent crying, or self-denying, or complying, was purifying.
When life feels unsatisfying, there is something edifying, in identifying with the terrifying. Processing and magnifying, focussing, and occupying the stupefying underlying processes of the mind.
Perhaps the point of trying,
Is to begin the process of purifying
Is to enable present moment occupying
Is to deny the darkness justifying.
Perhaps the point of trying,
Is to promote hope magnifying.
Is to reveal your truth underlying.
Is to heal from trauma stupefying.
This poem is from the book, ‘A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken’.
Read more from the colleciton, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.
So Why?
if all I want
is for each day
to end
quickly
why
do I bother
waking?
to do
just enough
to afford a bed
and the drugs
to keep me
there
This poem is from the book, ‘A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken’.
Read more from the colleciton, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.
Empty
Sitting
In the sun
In an empty field
My head
Too heavy to hold
I numbly
Weep
For the life
I was too afraid
To live
This poem is from the book, ‘Poetry from a Dark Night of the Soul’.
Read more from the colleciton, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.
but a feather
i am but a feather
drifting between worlds
forced to float
on the whims of the wind
perhaps
one day
i’ll be allowed
to rest
This poem is from the book, ‘Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly’.
Read more from the colleciton, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.