connection

Rationality

Don’t tell me what I do is wrong, you’d never try it anyway.
Don’t try to teach me how you think, I don’t care what you’ll say.
If I had to live a life like your’s I’d lose my mind within a day.
If you really want to help someone then try a different way.
I don’t care about your sermons, about your common bloody sense.
I don’t care how you choose to live your life, your sensible pretense.
Just leave me be, I’m happy here, where my mind and I still play.
I’ll let you be and let you live when and where ever you want to stay.

Poetic Antidote

And here, in contrast to the previous piece is something more positive in nature, I’m not all doom and gloom, I like to strike a healthy balance of all the main mood groups (although this isn’t always feasible; oh well).

For all things

For all things, a time must come
For it matters not who lost or won
For all those things we might have said
For all the blood that we have shed
For songs and rhymes and stories penned
It matters not, for all things must end

For all things there is a place
For everyone who runs this race
For every life, be it long or brief
For every smile or tear of grief
For everyone who plays their part
Who finds in life a counterpart

For all things are joined as one
For every voice a song is sung
For every heart that lost it’s way
For every soul set free to play
For we are all made of light and dreams
No matter how cold the darkness seems.

Not For Anyone In Particular

I wrote this poem not for anyone who has offended me, nor for those who might. I suppose it’s just an expression of the kind of internal mental pressures that tend to build up and an exercise in filing them in a safe location.

Just don’t

I just don’t want to hear it, it’s never what I need.
I just don’t want to see you, and all your selfish greed.
I just don’t need your whining and your constant derogation.
I just don’t think that I can stand the endless aggravation.
I just don’t want to hear this now, the insults and the lying.
I just don’t think that I can take another damn day’s crying.
I just don’t want to take this, now I know I’m gonna break.
I just don’t think you’re worthy of the life I’m gonna take.

Painted Faces.

We all paint our faces, to hide so no-one knows.
we all dress up so pretty, and hope the pain just goes.
we all with eager footsteps chase the same idyllic goal.
we all pretend through weeping eyes as we slowly lose our soul.

The biggest lie I ever tell is simply ‘I’m okay’.
the smile I paint across my face to keep me lying every day.
the smiles and friendly gestures of the other’s painted grins.
the sick and bitter contents of their thinly veiled sins.

If Inside Were Out.

If your inside were out, would I have fallen all the same? Would I have eagerly tried to own you the way I did? Had I known what lay beneath that overbearing facade, that beguiling disguise, would I still have snapped you up when I finally found the chance? I Don’t like to think that a book should be judged by it’s cover, nor do I like to believe that external perfection precludes the presence of internal perfection but in you I was sold from the start, the second i looked at your divine countenance I was certain you would be mine.

But, as with all things, it was not to last. The changes you went through were drastic it’s true, but the way you changed so brazenly, so hotly at first was a thrill as I watched you rise and colour until eventually after endless, countless time had passed you gave yourself and I knew from the first taste that it was wrong, that I had nothing to look forward to but disappointment and regret but still I went on; I went on until I could take no more and now all i can do is gaze on those sad, grey remnants that were all I left and wonder to myself if your inside were out would I have fallen all the same?

This, dear readers, is why I don’t usually buy supermarket pizza.

Connections.

In a world so connected we are now, more than ever, utterly alone. We search google for answers from total strangers, we seek acceptance from others based on trivial interests rather just being the people we are. It’s easier to post online than to use the same phone to just hear a real voice or go for simple walk and just talk nonsense and get it off your chest. This world is more connected than ever and yet still we couldn’t be more distant.

There are those who live their lives through the camera, as though a life isn’t real unless every frame is documented for the global audience; There are those whose camera shields them from responsibility, another person being beaten, bloodied and helpless and yet the phones are used to record the event rather than to call for help.

We make ourselves connected across countries, even oceans, but never try to connect with a person sitting in the same room. Our connections keep us in touch while driving us apart.