Though I hurt again, you should not take the blame
You are faultless this is true my pain exists despite of you
I hurt before you came to me, I hurt before you knew
I hurt for years and years and none of it is because of you
You know my darkness, you’ve heard my pain, and you’ve seen my tears when I’ve been insane
You know my life I’ll say it again… do not feel responsible for my pain
I fill lakes with tears almost every night; I choke on prayers and try to steal the light
I do it for a piece of glee, a concept that is far beyond me
But you still sit in your own darkness every night, thinking that it’s you…. And you are not right.
My poems are simple and short
I do my best with them, please don’t snort
The truth is, I’m better than what you see
The truth is I am afraid to do my best and only allow you to see
a limited collection from me
Success is scary for me
Darkness has fallen and the moon arises to light his way from the sky.
Gently he walks in concealment with his dark and sly little eyes.
He tiptoes through the night forest crunching dead leaves underfoot; slowly he crawls like a stealthy, clever, hunting crook.
Sniffing the ground tracking the bait, to see what luck will have him take!
Which meal is he to find today?
Sniffing the paths of many preys!
The scent of live flesh gets stronger now and he eagerly prepares his snare.
There it is, back turned from the wolf, the prey doesn’t know that his there.
Slowly the night hunter creeps behind, ready to pounce and ready to dine.
The wolves jaw snaps round the neck sharp.
Tearing it to pieces without a heart!
Triumphant with his hunt, he calls!
Barking loudly about his Trawl, calling his family to dine with him, the flesh of the victim, it pleases him.
I mix my potions to make you love me
I have dreams that you’ll want me
I am hopeful that you’ll be mine
Forevermore to the ends of time
I can’t see another picture
My minds obsessed with your essence
Some say I have no conscience
But dutifully I build your shrine
Do you not see that you are beautiful?
Can you not see your artistic repertoire floating above the foundations of man?
This makes you an instrument of creation
Yes my friend, you are a god
This was written for my friend Erin Cooper, an artist that resides in Indiana, USA. This is how I view all artistic people, whether they’re novelists, poets, sketchers, painters or lyricists – they’re all god to their own little worlds.
My mind is like a gallery, with pictures you can’t see
Oh how I wish you’ll see them, what sights there are in me
My memories of lavender fields and brightly colored stones
And kestrels up on the wing, over my head have flown
Delightful little butterflies who have landed on my hand
And baby swans upon the lake all over this pleasant land
I have seen such wonders, such a joy to see
Little rabbits playing, frolicking by trees
I have seen the otter holding its mother’s hand
I have seen a rainbow, arching over our land
The little things in life are sweet
I find nature a beautiful treat