You lie somewhere between my head and my heart
And somehow encompass both in the most holistic way.
Your excitement and your charm
Is every beat of life within me,
As you stand at the beginning and end
Of every syllable I utter.
You are at the forefront of my mind’s eye and I cannot possibly
Not know how truly lucky I am.
Sometimes you have to take the observers
With a pinch of Sodium.
As their self-indulgent eloquence
licks the end of every word and their egos
Nurture the thoughts that precede them.
They can only take one step
In which direction
To say their own opinions.
They snort, they scoff and push
Until their sore insecurities
Have become a bully of their own making.
They’ve learnt to stare with
The steam of Smaug
Drifting from their nostrils.
Of course,
Their talk causes concern,
But not as much as our silence
Causes them.
It is strange
How with so few
Different variations,
The whole Earth
Can shift around
And face you from
Yet one more direction.
As, when the sun is on your skin
You remember the cold as only thought
As if it had never really happened in any reality
But your own.
I have taken the same walk
– Step for step –
Three months apart,
And the only similarity was me.
And even I was only just.
It is a journey we are on; these lives of ours,
Each step along the paved and wild ways
Are more than enough proof
For any man, woman
Or child (who is older than their years).
I am not half the man
I am
Without you by my side.
Every moment’s echo is thrice-trebled
With the resounding knowledge
That when we bask in the warmth
Of each other’s loving presence
Every single passing second
Is a second shared
And a second cherished.
It has been a while since my aching heart
Has held your head in my hands;
Stroked your hair
And felt the gaze of your almond eyes,
But it is tonight we reunite
And I become Thrice-trebled the man I am right now once more.
Lying in a sea of tranquility
My thoughts feel the innocence they once had
At the beginning of time.
My skin
Is the perfect fit,
As my mind
Wanders along the straight line
Of life.
For now it is sensical.
For now it is complete.
And as each moment passes
The next one floats within my reach.
I am relaxed.
My routine with the world
Barely changes.
From the time that it takes to drag
My heavy self out of bed,
To the milk I pour on my malted wheats,
To the bus that I amble past the course of
To the tram that crowds my platform.
Every morning I feel the waking ache
Of a hundred people
Sway with the groaning beast that carries us down the track.
Synopsis
This collection of short stories varies from issues of the present day, to problematic views of fantastic and tragic futures. The further the reader progresses into the novel, the settings become more futuristic, as the stories are ordered in a hypothetical timeline. Bodybuilding, social media, the media and the justice system are just a few of the concepts that come in to play in these short and fascinating pieces of fiction. Click here to visit the page.
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A deep message in a hard crime
Leaves us wallowing in our fears,
Our terrors.
Blood red hands meet the eyes of every
Internet viewing,
Social media user
And a man who has lost his mind
And tries and be heard,
Butchering his own message
With the blood of a patriotic symbol.
I’ve heard weak
And soft,
Enfuriating opinions
Diluted with racism and propaganda
By people who need a man to hate
A reason to boil
And bring the bubbles to the ugly surface.
I have heard a petty rhyme scheme
Speculating the victim’s death;
Glorifying the institution of murder
Hiding behind the image of crisp uniforms,
Clean-cut faces,
Keeping hardened souls
And corrupt causes.
We are at war,
And yet we believe there is no battleground at home?
We are at war.
A British soldier stabbed a ten-year-old boy,
While drunk,
Where is the justice in that?
Our soldiers fight for no just cause,
They are only lost, directed by the madness
Of those above
Who play God with others’ lives
And mislead with their rhetoric and guile.
People blame religion,
Fighting the building blocks of mosques:
These are the ones that cannot see the truth in the spaces of the politicians’ words
As it trickles through in the tears over those lost and never found.
The war on terror
Becomes only as absurd as those who scream at it.
As fear becomes an excuse
Not an explanation for war,
And retaliation.
What broken nature lies before us,
Stuck
Like a stick in the ground.
It is not meant to be there
And tries to force
And squeeze
Shallow beauty from our hearts.
It’s imitation is of a lake,
Or a natural park
And yet, it is transparent and false,
The man-made copy
Is nothing but an empty shell.
How can a forced silence
Ever be power?
Shouting, screaming
Bashing and breaking
Blood in your eyes
When you call the other man a savage.
How far can violence progress
When our lives,
Societies,
And beliefs are all built
On words
And their logic.
Who are you to tell me what I cannot hear?
You think I will ever support murder,
You think I cannot fight for myself
And keep my heart at bay?
I will not bow down
In front of your ideological train.
Start With Your Pen 