What is truth, Other than fiction?

What is truth,
Other than fiction?

An oil addition,
And political corruption,
From party contributions.

A narrative repeated,
Resources depleted,
Until resistance defeated.

A move to perception change,
From being considered strange,
Into unequivocally deranged.

Think this is a lie?
Look back and histories cry,
And witness those who die.

The best amongst us,
The ones who raised a fuss,
The holy and the righteous.

A bullet to silence
Those in defiance.
Those highlighting the hypocrisy of the violence.

‘But that’s the past’ you say,
‘It no longer happens that way’.
Perhaps, but wait until today is yesterday.

Then today’s leaders
Will be seen to be the cause of the bleeders,
Covert operations and illegal seizures.

But don’t you worry,
There’s nothing to be done,
It’s just how it is,
under our radiant sun.
They will continue taking,
At the barrel of a gun,
With the sign of a pen,
Or a secret bank run.

Knowing that truth is a lie
Won’t help you get by,
At best you’ll cry,
At worst your entire family will die.

Cause if you speak up too loudly,
They’ll come at you proudly,
Exclaiming that you’re dastardly,
And probably bastardly.

Your image will be dragged into the dust,
Your assets left to rust,
Your body buried below the crust.

So,
Open your mouth and swallow the narrative,
The truth is fiction and you will believe their prediction.

Keep quiet if you know what’s good for you,
Cause really, what good could you actually do? 

Just a full stop.
Just a conspiracy top.
Just a dead-beat flop,
with nothing more to drop.

Realise that truth you share won’t make it to air. But that air you used to share will be the last you ever dare.

---

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.

Why Do I Flee?

I rush off
Like I’ve got somewhere to be
Something to do
Or someone to see

But that’s a lie
Cause the reality is it’s just gonna be me
Scared and alone and devoid of esprit
Asking the same questions repeatedly
‘Why do I end conversations so quickly?
And why do I flee
When all that I crave is company?’

Daily
I attempt to reconcile this hypocrisy
But the internal enquiry
Just yields me a dark prophecy
It states with nihilistic glee that
‘Happiness is impossible to guarantee’

Oh well
At least my family
Can use this poetry on my obituary

So if you’re reading this
Please ignore the depravity
The dead should be looked upon positively
Their transgressions forgotten to the pasts obscurity

I’m left wondering if this pain a function of my pedigree
If it was meant to be
Or if I brought it upon me
Cursed by fate and my family tree
Or by god and a world that rewards functionality
And profit derived from cruelty
Take what you can and fuck all that disagree
Prosperity if your right as long as you are free
As long as you agree

I’m so angry
And tired
And disproportionately craving insobriety
The only thing keeping me here is my children’s plea
Daddy won’t you come play with me?

---

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.

I Took It For Granted

My body was broken,
before I realised it was my own.

I took it for granted,
while it was slowly being taken.

I used it without thought,
I used it without comprehension,
I used it without appreciation.

Now it’s just used.

I got old,
before I realised I was ageing.

I squandered what I had,
while worrying about what I would become.

I wasted my time,
I wasted my energy,
I wasted my opportunity.

Now I’m just wasted.

My life was over,
before I realised I was living it.

I ignored reality,
but reality kept a watch on me.

I spent my time,
I spent my money,
I spent my soul.

Now I’m just spent.

---

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.

God Asked

God asked the man,
Why did you choose to die?
I saw no point in existence,
I couldn’t fathom a reason why.

I couldn’t stay focused,
I couldn’t hold down work.
I’d just wait for the day to end,
to sleep away the murk.

Every day was the same,
I’d already lived it through.
What was the point of repeating
when there wasn’t anything new?

What about the small changes,
the gems of love and life?
What about the lessons learnt
from surviving hardships and strife?

True, I did feel most alive
when things were at their worst.
But how is that reason to live,
just hoping to be cursed?

I could handle the drama
but not the monotony,
nor the vagueness of existence,
nor humanity’s cacophony.

I would sit alone,
I would sit in the dark,
I would sit and listen and
my mind would remark.

Highlighting my failures,
reminding me of lost dreams.
Showing me bad outcomes
and my own devilish schemes.

Where were you God,
when I needed you the most?
Why’d you only start talking
now that I am a ghost?

I was talking the whole time.
I was in the warmth of the sun,
I was in your kid’s smiles,
their laughter and fun.

I was the crash of the waves,
the vision of the moon,
the spring flower’s scent,
the young lover’s boon.

I was the quenching of thirst,
the purr of a kitten,
the pillow at night,
the book well written.

I could go on
but I think you now know,
I was with you always,
even when you were low.

Ah God, you don’t get it,
your words were too easy to miss.
What with all the noise,
with our collective descent into the abyss.

How could I just stop and look?
How could I listen to the bird’s song?
How could I take a breath,
When everything was going wrong?

It isn’t my place to save you,
nor can I fix your life.
I can only remind you,
that there is something beyond the strife.

That even in the midst of suffering
there are small joys to behold.
But you are right my child,
perhaps I should have been more bold.

No God, I was also wrong.
You know this was my last thought,
I could fix every problem but this one.
Oh how my family will be distraught.

God thought for a moment,
then asked the man,
If I sent you back to Earth
would you change your plan?

I will do my best,
but I make no guarantee.
I will attempt to listen,
I will attempt to see.

---

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.

death

death
is not true
but it seems like
it is

do not mourn
my passing
life isn’t complete
until it ends

---

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.