When my hands begin to tremble
You’ll place your hand in mine
When my eyes become hollow
That you’ll gaze into them
When I’m at a loss for words
You’ll kiss me so the silence
Can speak for the both of us.
Saturday 14th February 2015 7:18 pm
Wish I could turn it off
Voices echoing around
Wish I could reboot my brain!
I keep it all inside
All my worries
But I'm scared Scared I'm going to crack up
There's only so much I can think about
Keep it bottled up
Even though it's not healthy
I need to release the cork
Don't want to be in that dark place again
Friday 13th February 2015 4:03 pm
This is a poem dedicated to my birthplace and current residence of 28 years. i have dropped some odd and interesting town facts in there too.
From Hull To Halifax
I was raised in a town
where memorial plaques are outside houses
Fridges left out on country walks
and a guillotine used as a historical exhibit
But i love my town.
Hometown of Big Daddy
the cat-eyes too
We had a hand in Macki...
Friday 6th February 2015 9:07 am
Tags: Halifax,Poem,Punk Poetry,Tribute,Yorkshire
a poem i wrote about my uncoditional love for flames.
I like to play with matches
I like to see stuff burn
people think i'm tapped in the head
but when they gonna learn
the smell of fresh turpentine
is a scent i love to taste
Please give me your unwanted items
and don't let them go to waste
now some people are addicted to sex
and others like to steal
but the only i like to see naked is...
Wednesday 4th February 2015 12:57 pm
Thy pen; no mighty sword here preach
Where words, metallic, fall.
On blood-ink lines; stained city streets -
Oh time, thou horrors crawl.
Wrought freedom flits, it waxes, ebbs,
Whence censored bullets rain,
But fallow not among the dead
Doth liberty remain.
Copyright © Simon Austin 2015
Monday 12th January 2015 3:01 pm
Tags: Charlie Hebdo,Je Suis Charlie,Paris,Poem,Poetry,Terrorism
Alcoholic with sick on his shoes,
Sat on a brown wooden bench
In the middle of town
With his old dog,
Lacking good vision
Waiting for a meal
A dropped pasty or pie
A sandwich, perhaps rye.
I, was never taught in school
To be such a man
It was always
You could become a lawyer,
You could become a teacher,
You could become a business man
Never, you could ...
Saturday 3rd January 2015 5:03 am
Tags: alcoholic,Everyday,Life,Poem,poetry,society alcohol
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