Poetry Blogs (2018, forgotten)

I’m losing my mind.

Don’t you understand?

I’m desperately reaching out for your hand.

Don’t leave me hanging, slipping, falling…

down into the endless abyss of darkness,

Never destined to land.

You’ve saved me once before,

But this time there are no safety ropes.

I’m free-falling, plummeting, going down…

My only hope Is for you to save me now.

I’m losing my ...

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forgotten are the times

our laughs filled the air 

gone are the times

we wished would never leave 

time passes

memories fade

in blistering august 

i shiver 

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Daisies in a meadow's bend,
Water dripping from the pale rocks,
And the moonlight shining deeply beneath the hallowed earth.

Do you witness the sky’s transient beauty?
Do you see the world’s unholy inconsistency?
Or do you perhaps wander ever blinder into the abyss of rock and dirt.

Forgo the witnessed lands behind the gravel topped mountains,
The light ricocheting off the wind,
Bleedi...

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We tried to right what was wrong.

But we couldn't hold on long.

We tried to fight for what was right.

But we failed under the enemies' might.

Pain and suffering, despair and greed.

That was their creed.

Freedom and safety, love and honor.

That was our banner.

Try as we might,

They won't give us our rights.

Exiled from our homes,

With the cold deep in our bones,

...

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£4.88

Your body was found dead in your flat, three months gone and smelling like hell.

They came and took you away, to the morgue downtown, an unhappy place.

Clearing your flat they found £4.88, not much to show for a lonely death.

Always on your own, eternally in death. How sad no one will see you buried, a pauper’s death, the undertaker the only witness at this solemn occasion.

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The dead man sits on his sofa and watches TV

in his East German tower block apartment.

Cash in the bank pays his bills, no eviction notice here.

What was once a real person is a mummified corpse, all wrinkled and shrunken.

For three years he's been like this, a TV critic.

Bored fucking shitless, dead.

From soaps to films, he's endured them all.

No neighb...

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I am but the mottled bark
of a tree once firmly rooted,
peeled from its stately trunk

and within my hollow carapace
echoes an inert drumbeat
that keeps the cadence for
a march of ornate trappings

soon and sooner still, one day
this crepuscular orphelin song
resonant in its languid longing
shall surge with the rising tide

the sound of its condescencion
as it strikes th...

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