Poetry (words)

I like….

I like how his clothes cling to his curves in the rain. Not quite transparent, but somehow more appealing than the obvious. 
I could fill pages from memory just describing how his skin feels. How he fills my senses even now. I like that I’m still discovering this. 

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Poetry (words)

“Without passion we’d be truly dead”

Destination detoured, objective unchanged. Peace, warmth, shelter, perhaps solace, but definitely determination. 

You can’t be prepared for the decisions of others. You can’t be expected to deal with what’s thrown at you. Some people have switches, others would rather go through hell than just turn off. 

Coldness is a choice. The wrong choice. So as hostility builds and resentment does its best to become your master remember what brought you here. 

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Poetry (words)

Scribblings

I hate sitting on chairs where my feet don’t reach the ground, where I have to shift forward to make that contact. 

I hate the cold that numbs my fingertips, never my fingers just the tips. I always place them on my ribs just to check how cold they are.

I hate coffee that isn’t sweet enough. Lukewarm showers and boots that rub my ankles. 
I hate running out of things to say. Awkward silences. Hollow promises. Flowers that wilt on their second day. 

I hate remote controls, channel hoppers. Television as background noise. Capitalism, war, greed. Shallowness and snobbery.

I hate running for the bus. Forgetting all the things I should have said. When time stands still….it’s always at the wrong time. 

Hate is probably too strong a word, but you know what I mean. 

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Poetry (words)

One size fits all.

Fill the room with the blue flicker and the flame. Fill the room with anything that stops the pain. All the pictures on your wall don’t mean anything at all and happiness was just a foolish claim. 

All the things you said with certainty are no longer the things I see. The thrill of the chase yes you won the race, but there’s still a void where the warmth used to be. 

Is it cold there? 

Flick through the catalogue of things, see how they sparkle just like rings. One size fits all when you nail them to the wall, but at least the sun will never melt your wings. 

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Poetry (words)

I could 

I could sit here and quote you Shakespeare all day, but they’d be his thoughts and not mine. I could take Keats’ lines and post them to you, maybe that would suit you just fine. 

I could send you lyrics that profess my undying love, from songs already sung, but plagiarism’s such a foolish pastime and once it’s been done it’s done. 

So the thoughts you receive are the ones I perceive,  these lines that flow through my soul. I claim nothing is real apart from what we feel it’s this that’s keeping  me whole. 

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Poetry (words)

Surf’s up 

I followed footprints in a path well trod they led me nowhere new. I pause at every turning still, heartbeats in a queue. 

I watch the birds take flight from the sodden field, so graceful as they soar. Far below I watch them still, never needing more. 

I taste the salt from the winter gale and hunger for that chill. The numbness that brings me to life, floating upon the thrill. 

I want to be at the waters edge and forget the world exists. To feel that thunder in my veins, to let it all go from my unclenched fists. 

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Poetry (words)

Shifting sands. 

Moment of realisation when all’s not as it seems. Drifting in isolation caught up in my dreams. 

Catching up with nothing, foothold’s built in sand. Words unravel before me, empty slight of hand. 

Tripping my way through here, passing by what shone so bright. Lost my path somehow, lost that guiding light. 

Spitting out the promises like poison from a pen.                       Once it’s spoken you can’t take it back, I hold my breath and start again. 

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