Tag: sadness

poetry

~ The Only Way ~

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~ The Only Way ~

I’m sorry, but I can’t be who you want me to be
I know I’ve tried to iron out these creases
To fit my circular shape into a square hole
And I know how wonderful it would be to be with you
To share our journey with love and laughter
But the makeup of myself is something unchangeable.

I thought this time it might be different
With the love of a good woman, I could become sane
I could find a good job and learn to drive and flourish
A regular human-being just like the rest.

But each stride forward just pulls me back
And tells me the inescapable truth
That I do not belong on that side of the street.

My place is here in this broken shack
Lingering with the lost and lonely
Finding my way in the shadows
While writing this poetry.

A part of me has always known this
But your kisses were intoxicating
And like all starved people who get a taste of love
I guess I let delusion get the best of me.

So tonight I finally recognise that this has to come to an end
That the irreparable parts of my character
Now break down this bridge
To leave us standing on separate shores
With only the memory of each other
And at least knowing we tried what others wouldn’t.

But now we know,
That I can’t be who you want me to be,
And that’s okay.

In the end, it’s best for both of us.

In the end,
It’s the only way.

poetry

~ Touching The Flame ~

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~ Touching the Flame ~

Another one reduced to tears
And I can’t help but think
Of all the broken hearts tonight
Head in hands, tears on cheeks
As the candles flicker beside baths
And the warmth leaves the heart
Swallowed up by a great sadness
That seems destined to find us all
At some point in our lives.

What is there to do
But just try to keep it together
As the shaking hand turns the tap
And the face forces another smile
Silently struggling through the days
All of us together as our private pains
Continue to fester in our hearts.

This world is a secret tragedy
And when I look around all I see are broken people
Fighting through the heartache; reorganising their lives
Still searching for that one great love
To complete what can not be completed
To heal what cannot be healed.

Like moths to flame we chase a feeling
That continually sears and scalds us
But somehow leaves us wanting more.

I’m starting to come to the conclusion
That I don’t think we were suppose to ever find it
And perhaps a part of us doesn’t want to.

A part of us wants the tears to continue to pour
The candles to continue to flicker
And our hearts continue to ache
For the strange and irresistible feeling
Of being burnt in some fire
That reminds us we’re alive.

poetry

~ A Bad Dream~

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~ A Bad Dream ~

It was a bad dream, I think
I was standing in some strange place
And all my friends had faded away
All the feelings had faded away
Time had shipped out much of my joy
And I was left standing in an empty port
Of an abandoned town
Wondering what to do next
With my ragged life.

I wandered back out into the wilderness
And felt the nakedness of myself
Totally alone with no path to follow
Only one to forge to somewhere else
That might harbour me and my madness.

The way led me through harsh lands
I knew not what would become of me
And as night came the stars shone bright
I gazed up to them with weary eyes
Confused and trapped in some world
Whose origin was unknown.

Nowhere seemed to be the place
Where I set down my bags for good
And I drifted onward in my journey
Carrying a great sadness in my heart
Wondering what the point was
To this strange story.

At times, I thought that I had missed my boat
Perhaps I was supposed to join the others
And follow their ships to a new world
Instead I chose to follow the voice out there
Calling me into this barren wilderness
That had left me bedraggled and bewildered
With no chance of finally finding my way
As the wolves howl and vultures circle above
As a cold wind blows and the earth begins to shake….

Then suddenly I wake up
But the dream isn’t over
I stare into the mirror
I’m one day older
Carrying more hardship in my heart
Going to a job I don’t want to do
Surrounded by people I can’t relate to
And I realise that the wilderness in my dreams
Is no different to the one I wander in now
Perhaps there are more people around
And I am slightly more static
But I am a lone wanderer in this life
Passing through doorways; shaking hands
Attending to the tasks required of me
But still, all the while, I’m out there
In some great unknown
Drifting, searching
Caught in some dream
And I think it’s a bad one.

Yeah, I’m pretty sure,

It’s a bad one.

poetry

~ Do Not Enter ~

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~ Do Not Enter ~

In the haunted house of my heart
Broken piano keys play their own melody
And the clocks tick relentlessly out of rhythm.

There once was a home
A place of warmness and being
Where happy souls sat around fires in winter
And played on green lawns in the summer.

But now the grass grows long and wild
The ashes of the fire litter the floor
And the floorboards creak in ruin.

Life has deserted this one
Through the toil of the years
Being bled dry by experience
And the failed endeavours
Of deluded and wasted feeling
That strip away slowly at the soul.

I exist now like so many others
Living and walking relics
Occupying a place and wondering
What this life has done to me
To leave me standing but broken
Lying at the end of the street.

Still, I don’t completely collapse
As I hold onto this space inside
Waiting for it to be filled
To carry the weight of love and joy
As light fills this home once more.

But the years go on
And the silence remains
No sound of joy to be heard
Just whispers in the hallways
The ghost of something 
That cannot no longer be.

poetry

~ No Sale ~

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~ No Sale ~

My books don’t sell much
But that’s okay
It still makes me feel good
Just to spit out some sentences
That come from some strange space inside
Where sunlight can’t survive.

It’s a world run by money
And what is a man to do when
His passion doesn’t translate to a job role.

“Do what you’re passionate about,
And you’ll never work a day in your life.”

Oh yes, we’ve all heard it before
The ignorant sentence that means nothing
To poets and people who can’t fit into
The positions of conventionality.

I consider my other options outside of creative writing:
There are things like copywriting and journalism
Where you write about stuff you’re not interested in
As you slowly lose your passion and energy
For writing your own stuff.

It’s a slightly annoying situation, I must say.

I was only given this one talent
I’m an introverted daydreamer
With no practical or pragmatic skills
I’m living with some form of undiagnosed condition:
Possibly ADD, autism, or dyspraxia
Or all of them together.

It’s not the best set of cards to have, admittedly.

“But you’re intelligent,” they say,
Totally unaware that being intelligent
And being compatible with a certain system of society
Are two completely different things.

Oh well, for there to be insiders,
There need to be outsiders.
It’s a universal law; one which I keep in check
As I wander this wilderness
With my unread words.

No point at this stage in trying to fit in
And do something different
No point at this stage in trying to be normal
And fail once again.

Time for me to accept who I am.

Let me sink into my groove of eccentricity
Let me drink the beers and scribble on stained pages
Watching the world go by from the window of a bar
On a Monday afternoon.

This is my space;
As the successful men of the world stare at me
And continue in their sane lives
Going to and from their workplaces
Their wives and their children.

I face down to the page once more
The pen knows it’s time to paint words
And let all the stuff that stirs inside of me
Show its strange face to the world.

It knows it’s time to let the world know
That there’s one more madman
Who believes he has some art within him
Another daft, deluded daydreamer
Who thinks that following his own voice
And doing his own thing
Can somehow bring anything
Other than madness, loneliness
And, most probably,
An early death.

poetry

~ Lost in Action ~

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~ Lost In Action ~

You wake up and don’t feel the need to tidy your bed
Your room is unclean like the mess in your head
And you’re standing in showers and staring at walls
Feet stuck to the ground as you stutter and stall
And you’re searching your soul for something not there
A quiet sadness inside as you stand and you stare
Something isn’t right but you can’t quite say
When you’re living your life in this peculiar way.

And you walk down the street and stare at the faces
Searching for others who aren’t quite at the races
You look into their eyes as you stand in the rain
Wondering if anyone else is feeling your pain
You’re in a city of people but feel all alone
With feelings of emptiness filling your bones
But no one can see and you’re looking just fine
Drifting through life and wasting your time.

And you enter your work and sit at your desk
Reporting for duty just like the rest
You shift in your seat and stare at a screen
Feeling inside like you just want to scream
Then you start dreaming of living in a different way
You start searching again for the words you can say
But your mind is numb and your soul is sedated
As you slowly become all that you hated.

And on the way home you do all your chores
You workout at the gym and stop in the stores
You search the shelves of that supermarket aisle
Getting the same things you have for a while
Then head on home to stare at the next screen
Sitting on that sofa still wanting to scream
Reaching for the bottle to forget about tomorrow
Filling the hole and drowning your sorrow.

One day you decide something has to change
You can’t keep feeling this sick and this strange
Life is to be lived and it’s time to begin
To claim back the beauty and spirit within
You try to think of what can be done
Of what it was that once made life fun
But you can’t find the magic that once lingered inside
And you’ve forgotten what it was that made you alive.

Then you’re back to the feeling of being sedated
Back to the feeling of becoming all that you hated
Where life is grey and you’ve lost all purpose
Going through the motions of this lousy old circus
So you retreat to your bed to stare at the ceiling
Trying to make sense of all that you’re feeling
That terrible feeling inside that cuts like a knife
The sadness of the unlived, meaningless life.

poetry

~ Thawing Out ~

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~ Thawing Out ~

My bones like bare branches
Shake and shiver in the wind
That runs through my body

This internal winter is howling
As the wolves encircle me
As the frost forms upon my leaves
As mountainous horizons surround me

It seems like spring isn’t coming
Maybe it doesn’t happen anymore

To go on and endure
Is now all that I can do
Searching for some warmth in the wilderness
To sustain this soul

Oh, what this life can do to a person
To leave them wandering in a space
Where the kindest eyes can’t see
And loving words not reach.

I’m not dead
But I’m stuck somewhere
Where the moonlight doesn’t inspire me
Where music doesn’t resonate
And even this poetry
Doesn’t do much anymore.

There is nothing to do but wait
And look for signs of life
Some sunlight coming forth
From the clouds of discontent
To burst the buds from my branches
And thaw out my frozen spirit
That sits waiting for the touch 
Of something it has almost
Forgotten.

poetry

~ Shackled ~

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~ Shackled ~

Like a seabird in oily water
Or a turtle stuck in plastic
I want to rise up from this mess
And break free from this muck
That the world has poured onto me

I know these wings can flap
I know my soul can sing
And that my spirit can soar
Into skies of light and life

But here I am:
Caught like the rest
Cemented down and
Starved of something essential

I have become like so many on these streets
Trapped in an unfulfilling life
Weighed down by something silent
No longer hunting what is mine
Or doing what comes natural

Now I sit in traffic jams
And stare at electronic screens
Now I collect my prey in plastic
Packaged for me on supermarket shelves

Now getting out of bed in the morning
Seems like a pointless task.
And my greatest endeavour
Is buying discounted food.

God, give me some wilderness once more
Give me the sunlight rising over the mountains
Give me the sound of rain on the forest canopy
Give me the eagle circling high above the canyon

Just give me something pure
And untamed
To awaken my soul
Loosen my shackles
And bring me back home
To myself.

poetry

~ Resigned to the Fact ~

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~ Resigned to the Fact ~

Well, I guess this is it:
Thirty-one-years-old
All grown now
Fully-developed
The soul-searching done
I know who I am.
The result is in

And what is it that I am?

It’s not a lot.
It’s not a lot at all.

No useful skills
No place of belonging
No way of living sustainably
No chance of mental stability

It’s nothing but chaos
Frequent episodes of insanity
And spells of disillusionment
That leave me holding onto the rails
As life’s hurricane rips me apart

It’s not some momentary feeling
I’ve lived enough years now to know
That I’m always gonna be this way
Shifting from one crisis to the next
From one battle to the next
From one bender to the next

Yes, periods of peace shall occasionally arrive
There will be moments of contentment
Even times when I feel happy to be alive

But they won’t last long.
They won’t last long at all.

Because I know who I am now.
I’ve lived the years and walked the walk
And this is what I’ll have to deal with:
Some sort of malfunctioning mistake
Stumbling and staggering along
Fighting to survive.

I guess the first thing I should do is accept it
But I can’t help but feel
Disappointed, dejected
And even angry inside

This isn’t how it should be.

I wanted to live life
Not deal with it
Or cope with it
Or find ‘a way to get by’

I wanted to live life.

I wanted to live.



poetry

~ Something Has to Change ~

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~ Something Has to Change ~

Out on the streets, I see them
The drunk students partying
The skaters flipping their boards
The young people doing their thing

It only seems like a couple of years ago
That I was one of them
Wide-eyed and reckless
Careless and confused
Excited to be alive

Well now the years have gone by
And I approach the age of thirty-one
By no means an old age
But for some reason, I feel old
Older than one should feel at this age
Looking at them jovial kids
I just can’t help but wonder
What has happened to me

Nowadays I don’t dream of something ridiculous
Nowadays I’m not bursting with vigour
Nowadays I don’t get hurt like I used to
I don’t feel the thrill like I used to
I don’t chase desires like I used to

A mist has descended; the hunger fades
The fire that I thought would roar forever wanes

I guess this is what they call growing up
I always knew it would have its downfalls
But this total apathy with existence
Is something I didn’t quite anticipate.

I know the story:
Getting older
Losing the spark,
Your energy dwindling
As the quiet desperation of
Middle-age sets in.

Is this what awaits us all?
Is this why they say youth is wasted on the young?
Is this why we have children?
To give ourselves another chance?

Naturally, I consider the alternative: not growing old.

Most say growing old is better than dying young
But who can be sure?
At the very least,
Checking out early feels like a cop-out
Although I understand how such weariness
Can turn a person toward it.

I can’t keep fading out like this anyway
I’ve decided that something needs to change
I won’t try to force myself to be young again
But something needs shaking up

I’m not hoping for angels or epiphanies
Or to feel excitement like I once did
Or to dance on dancefloors like I once did
Or to flip skateboards like I once did

But something has to change

Something,

Has to change.