Poems (34,327)

My mood is dark,
I’m full of gloom,
just like the night,
before new moon.
Pitch, black darkness,
with shards of light,
not much joy,
but lots of fright.

I feel bitter and twisted,
like I won’t be missed,
if I were to leave,
there won’t be a twist,
life would go on,
as if nothing had changed,
it’s only that now,
there’s one less that’s strange.

I’m like a ghost,
a feint apparition,
if I’m not around,
there’s no change in condition.
People may realise,
something has shifted.
But what is the change?
Where has it drifted?

So how do I make,
my impact more known,
not by destruction,
as past ghost’s have shown,
but in a way,
of positive light,
one that glows,
for many a night.

So all I can do,
is just to be me,
a person that’s kind,
& sometimes too keen,
to lend a hand,
& to be a friend,
one that’s there,
until the end.

So not I feel,
like the moon has risen,
like light diffracted,
through a prism,
not one option,
but a spectrum of many,
the one that I choose,
will give me future heading.

It burned hot that day.
My charcoal remains did nothing more
then pay tribute to the wild fire that consumed me.
I had soaked myself in kerosene,
hoping I would catch a spark,
and I did.

As you spoke,
I grabbed each falling ember from your lips.
Oh, it burned hot that day.
Every common interest we had,
only fueled the intense inferno
I had burning deep inside.
Your laugh made me laugh,
and we laughed about that.
Just another reason for my temperature to rise,
for my skin to slowly smoke.

It all felt too perfect,
like fate had dragged me out of my shelter,
and directed me to the seat next to you.
The line between love and infatuation had been blurred,
and I stumbled from side to side drunken off the moment,
weakened by the idea of my own diamond in the rough
shaped by the beating of my heart.

It was all artificial though, every last ash.
I didn't really know a thing about you,
so had no choice but to love the unknown.
Your very personality and all the secrets undiscovered,
were constructed by the hands of my own imagination.
I pushed square blocks into circular holes,
and convinced myself they fit.
It was only to stretch the moment,
only to burn a little longer.

The ending is always the same though,
a poorly built structure on shifting sand.
One morning we'd wake up and discover everything
will have crumbled and been swallowed
by a billion grains of reality.

The best part of our mind blankets itself
in the ability to look back and remember.
The ability to recall the surreal feelings we had,
and the way it burned so hot that day.

Most of us are just ashes,
ghosts made up of moments
when we chose to mistake infatuation for love,
and burn bright enough to dim the stars.

Here alone in my bed,
I lay with thoughts inside my head.
Of the day that has just been,
and all the things that I have seen.

Of each mornings crimson rays,
a perfect start to every day,
and all the people I’ve met,
or those I have not met yet.

For if I were to hide away,
and deep within my head play,
I would never get to learn,
and for the past would truly yearn.

I may thinks back to Sliver Fern,
my family that showed true concern.
Event though I’d push them away,
and pay no heed to what they’d say.

They still stand by just awaiting,
for my call to them stating
that I have failed once again,
and in their debt will remain.

But their actions are not meant,
to make me sit back and repent,
for all the things that I have done,
to my Dad and my Mum.

What they’ve done was for one reason,
it wasn’t as an act of treason,
it was meant in peace, like a dove,
as I’m the one they truly love.

The bean was the beginning; the fetus of a king,
the child of a god, ending as a perfect peace of chocolate,
resting in your finger tips.
The chocolate seduces your lips to part ways.
Pulls your jaw down far enough too slip in past the split in your lips.
It yearns and moans to be tossed around by your tongue.
To bathe in your warm saliva and rest in your cheeks.
Crawling on hands and knees begging just for the privilege,
too slowly slide down your throat and finally rest inside you.
Some nights I sit and think of you,
and wish to god I was chocolate.

I would always manipulate,
everything to which I would relate,
this made those around feel unheard,
now I just do this with words.

Words are truly unique creations,
that hold with you no expectations,
as they allow you to have your say,
it never works the other way.

The greatest tombs ever written,
from Australia, New Zealand, and even Great Britain,
would only be blank leaves with no impact,
if not for words to provide the facts,

So each time that you speak and write,
don’t cower away or hide in fright,
as words my be your truest friends,
to stand up for you and defend.

Defend you feelings and your rights,
talk your way out of a fight,
too explain you feelings to a lover,
and maybe get them under cover.

So from now on remember this,
words can truly bring you bliss.
Please don’t use them to get others baited,
that wasn’t why they were created.

The journey of life’s on of undulation,
one that builds your own foundation,
on which your future will be build,
hopefully on slate and not on silt.

The stronger base that slate provides,
will allow you to really rise,
and become the person you deserve,
not just the one that only serves.

To be someone, whom other look too,
in order to help and guide them through,
the challenges that life throws up,
so that they will not give up.

You make them fully aware,
they’re not alone there’s someone there,
to show them the way, to lend a hand,
with no hidden requests or demands.

But in life you will need help,
you should not keep it to yourself,
but ask a friend for a hand,
let them know they’re in demand.

So you yourself must open up,
after all life can be tough,
but with support for others and for you,
we’ll all find a way to get through.

Isolation is a place,
Where no-one needs to know my face.
Where I hide,
what’s deep inside.
And my thoughts do not betray,
all the things I’d like to say.

So I dig myself in deeper,
Where other’s see a negative speaker.
As all those thoughts deep inside,
come pouring out they won’t abide,
with my plea to hide away,
all the things I should not say.

So there I am are sitting alone,
waiting there beside the phone.
Hoping I soon will discover,
I’m not alone there is another.
Someone who is tired too,
and has feelings just like you.

Feeling alone or lack or worth,
are they next door or in Perth.
Someone who understands your head,
and all the things that you have said.
Weren’t meant to harm or meant in spite,
but because you yourself could not fight.
The self image you have in your soul,
is one that’s out of control.

So with this image you struggle through,
and only let in a chosen few,
to come and share in your weird life,
one may even become your wife.
But if you never let them though,
the door you fight to hold onto,
they will never come to know you,
and you will never meet them too.

When you look inside your heart,
it’s like a priceless work of art,
a thing that cannot be replaced,
but something that should be placed,
in only the most secure location,
but never hidden in isolation.

However like a true masterpiece,
the true value is sloe to release,
and for years is locked away,
because no-one wants to foray,
and invest in what you offer,
to add to their emotional coffer.

But a part of true trust,
is to really open up,
and tell those around what you need,
hoping that they will heed,
and understand what’s real for you,
whilst still remaining true to you.


But at times our trust is shattered,
by those, to us, who really mattered,
and we are left to pick up parts,
of what remains of our heart,
and people wonder why trust fails,
and why we isolate on dark trails.

To rebuild true trust once it’s broken,
is like finding thoughts that were not spoken.
You know it’s there, but know not where,
as you wallow in deep despair.
You just thinks how life’s not fair,
and really think that no-one cares.

But then in time your trust comes back,
and to yourself you make a pact,
that this will never happen to again,
but you know it’s just a matter of when,
as this is just a part of living,
and you must just start forgiving.

I sit and look in to the mirror called vanity.
The reflection offers a small glimpse of insanity.
The mind and body cast a shadow called unity.
A view in the mirror behind shouts infinity.

The images make me doubt my own reality.
I pinch myself to give my existence credibility.
I don’t feel it, so is that premature senility?
Perhaps it’s a calming dream called serenity.

It could be a nightmare promising hostility.
I must jump to my feet with great ability.
If it weren’t for bad luck id break them with tenacity.
Ill go to the next room and search for tranquility.

LIFE ON THE ROAD





As you head to the air port leaving again.

As you say good bye to your family and friends.

Just wondering when you will see them again.

Life on the road seems to never end.

Trying the best that you can.

And praying to god that they under stand.

Not doing it for you but for the fans.

Feeling the enegry as you come down that ramp.

And to all the people that pack the stands.

Knowing because of them your a different man.

Life on the road can get lonley, but you meet a
lot of great people along the way.

Knowing that they keep you going

and that everythings going to be ok.