The day isn’t always welcomed by the sun
Sometimes it’s cloud and sideways swiping rain
Your face not always basked by warm suns glow
Sometimes it’s cold expands the crevasses of age and pain.
Though crest is hidden by crag or growth
The hills end naer moves futher from your grasp
The minds eye drifts to times and faces past
All futures lost to mental resignation of fate.
From one small spark a mammoth wildfire spreads
The gift of stubbornness oxygen to that flame
Ignites the heart and beats within your chest
One step and start it all again.
Me Me Me Me
To butcher Creep by wise Radiohead
Can express the things you’ve never said
To love oneself so much is quite an obsession
You wish you were an angel who was so fuckin’ special.
Instead you’re a cliché, a spectacular one
Surrounded by strangers, and trappings, such fun
Searching out something so precious a life
A trail left behind of carnage and strife.
Why won’t people just let you live as you want?
The only real answers to that are so blunt
Yet still you don’t listen you want to be free!
“It’s all about me, me, me, me, me, ME!”
The Wind Blew
I’m playing quietly, good as gold
My dolls are doing what they’re told
But something starts deep in my tummy
It’s like a pain but it feels funny.
It started low and and without grace
Rumbling scundering gathering pace
This sound could be a work of art
This most ginormous thundering fart!
The doors slammed shut, the curtains blew
The fire went out, the cushions flew
A howling gale consumed the room
And whipped all things off to their doom
The gusts died down and all went quiet
That fart gave me an awful fright
At least it’s done and all is well
Oh wait, what’s that? The smell, THE SMELL!
They hear all things said
And pass that on to you,
They live inside your head
And tell you what to do.
“Go make your bed” your Mammy said
That’s not what they told you sure
Instead they said to fake you’re dead
And you dropped to the floor.
“What’s your favourite number?”
You teacher asks the class?
“MY NUMBER 2S” you thunder
The Earwhizzles laugh and gasp.
You see they play tricks
These people in your head
There’s Ann, Joe and Nics,
And Tom, and Joan, and Fred.
They set up house inside your skull
To laugh and joke and play
With them around life is not dull
They brighten up your day.
Grey skies and a solemn season,
Within the time of mirth and cheer,
No smiles or at best fleeting,
Grief behind the lids shut tight.
But not that type of this I see,
A smorgasbord of wicked deceit,
A web of layers intricate,
A goal so clear the message dear.
A cunning devil in plain sight hides,
Plotting and planning in broad moonlight,
Stirring, pothing, ingrained evil,
Bred not born and heightened toll.
Forgiveness cannot be gifted now,
The steps past sane in thousands count,
Down the path to unknown consequence,
Alone on that route the bitch descends.