The longing for a lazy day

To drift and dream in summers' haze

With the warmth of the Sun

Free for all when the summer's done

In hope of floating

To dispell a myth I rithe in

For chance to walk free without restraint

A dream to recall without the hate

Tidying, sweating until midnight

Scrambling through thoughts all night

The candle melts at both the ends

...

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I’ve been sitting on the precipice of this

For a while

Unsure how to express my feelings

When I don’t know what I feel

You see 

I’m hysterically nonreactive 

I’m worryingly unworried 

A switch 

From nothing to everything 

Because - like Whitman -

I contain multitudes

Many great thrashing waves

Like creatures 

They slip through nets

Can’t be caught 

They...

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How many times must I rinse off the moon

And unpeel the stars from my skin?

Have someone ask what were you drinking?

How many times must I try clinging to lamp lights?

Try configuring keys into shining beacons?

I cannot see in the dark

Yes, blackouts steal my sight

But when finished,

I wake up feeling feverish

And fear ferments and festers

The night can be sticky

H...

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I am so very exhausted
I tried everything,  I really did
Still this darkness looms over me
Making the love and happiness hard to see
Everything is impossible to try to reach
This constant fight drains me like a leach
My limbs are so heavy, I can hardly move
Bouts of energy come far too little, and far too few
So I'm stuck in this position, as if I'm glued
And no this isn't the type of day...

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You try to escape the demons

But they latch on way too tight,

Their claws digging into my body

And mind, with all their might.

Fighting is exhausting,

It physically and mentally drains.

But still I endure it, hoping

One day I will finally escape the pain.

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This is my vision of a certain cast of English village (not so much in springtime).

Winter Town

March winds stir listless eddies,

fluke in tired gusts over thin pools,

flare through fields of stubble

then flag, exhausted, sour and wheezing

from the blowing day;

coughing, rubbing arthritic fingers,

cold as a church bell sounds the hours.

Spring will be late this...

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