Suffering Without Hope

One day I will wake
To find you hanging
Above a letter

I won’t need to read it
I already know why

You tell me daily

Different words
Same truth

Suffering without hope

I find myself
Silently mourning
A death
That’s yet to happen

Unable to stop
The inevitability
Of your choice
Despite knowing
You are making it

I should do more
But there’s nothing more I can do

Other than wait

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This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

Candle

I’d like to be able to claim
That none can hold a candle
To your brilliance
But the truth is
They are but mere candles
Before you

Their light
Only blinding
Against darkness
Only blinding
In your absence

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This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

Complementing The Future

By complementing the future
She crafted the present.
Her words revealing a truth
Others couldn’t yet see.
Not for lack of trying,
But because she hadn’t yet spoken.
The truth was merely a dream,
Waiting for her birth it into reality.
Now here, its eternal nature is manifest.
The future, now present, informs the past,
And thus, her words were true before she ever spoke them.

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This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

Uttered

a casual comment
uttered by a stranger
felt better
than an entire childhood

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This poem is from the book Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly

set the darkness alight

when pain turns to might
the blind gain sight
but try as they might
they can’t handle the light
so accustomed to darkness
truth brings fright …

rodents delight in their self created blight
reluctantly fleeing the cat’s tyrannous bite
unable to fight they turn to flight
returned to the sewers
hiding till night
then forming packs of righteous right
they write of spite and unquenched appetite
they sight the slight and ways to incite
they observe the oversight and offer an invite
then wait
for their revolution
to set the darkness alight

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This poem is inspired by the book How To Write Evocative Poetry

What is truth, Other than fiction?

What is truth,
Other than fiction?

An oil addition,
And political corruption,
From party contributions.

A narrative repeated,
Resources depleted,
Until resistance defeated.

A move to perception change,
From being considered strange,
Into unequivocally deranged.

Think this is a lie?
Look back and histories cry,
And witness those who die.

The best amongst us,
The ones who raised a fuss,
The holy and the righteous.

A bullet to silence
Those in defiance.
Those highlighting the hypocrisy of the violence.

‘But that’s the past’ you say,
‘It no longer happens that way’.
Perhaps, but wait until today is yesterday.

Then today’s leaders
Will be seen to be the cause of the bleeders,
Covert operations and illegal seizures.

But don’t you worry,
There’s nothing to be done,
It’s just how it is,
under our radiant sun.
They will continue taking,
At the barrel of a gun,
With the sign of a pen,
Or a secret bank run.

Knowing that truth is a lie
Won’t help you get by,
At best you’ll cry,
At worst your entire family will die.

Cause if you speak up too loudly,
They’ll come at you proudly,
Exclaiming that you’re dastardly,
And probably bastardly.

Your image will be dragged into the dust,
Your assets left to rust,
Your body buried below the crust.

So,
Open your mouth and swallow the narrative,
The truth is fiction and you will believe their prediction.

Keep quiet if you know what’s good for you,
Cause really, what good could you actually do? 

Just a full stop.
Just a conspiracy top.
Just a dead-beat flop,
with nothing more to drop.

Realise that truth you share won’t make it to air. But that air you used to share will be the last you ever dare.

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This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken