Instinct. A poem.

Instinct
Cat’s claws
Raking red, black and blue

Instinct
My soul weeps
Until you’re done, you’re through

Instinct
Leaves me lying
The blood begins to pool

Instinct
Clean your claws
Back again, round two

Need. A poem.

What I want
Isn’t what I get
What I need
Is your respect
Your love, your trust
Together wed
To put the past
Finally to bed

Driven. A Haiku Trilogy.

Obscured

Drive into the fog
Feel the way, your headlights bold
The road obscured

Consequence

Lights are up ahead
Highlighting consequences
You down shift the gears

Path

Your fate in reverse
Go back up the road you came
Take a better path

Who Are You? A poem.

Who are you?
Are you what I make you?

Are you the sum of dreams and fantasies?
Could I cope with your reality?

Would you live up to my fevered imagination and expectations?
Would I live up to yours?

Who are we?

Perhaps it’s better off unknown
Lest we disappoint ourselves

The Yoke. A Poem.

The yoke weighed heavily
I toiled the fields of my responsibilities
I saw others dance and play all day and night
And I was filled with envy
And I longed to cast it aside
So that I too could be free

And one day I did
I cast the yoke unto the dirt
And my load was lightened
And I joined the dancers in their revelry
But while I danced into the cloying darkness
By the empty light of a sullen moon
My fields grew fallow
And my crops failed
And the subtle pangs of hunger
Slowly turned to starvation

So I picked up the yoke again
It was much heavier now
With the added weight of my failings
On top of my responsibilities
And I toiled once more
Long through the day and deep into the night
Where before I had danced with reckless abandon
Underneath a cold and sullen moon
But my fields remained parched and fallow
And my stomach remained empty and my tongue dry
And as I wasted away, a mere shadow of the man I was
I realised my mistake

Because you cannot always pick up where you left off

And there is always
A price to be paid

Wedge. A poem.

She is the wedge between my thoughts
The foot in my mental door
I couldn’t get her
out
of
my
head

Even if I wanted to

And I would
Never
Want
To

The Question. A poem.

It’s a question
One we all ask ourselves
When no one else is there to ask
When we think God is no longer listening

When we feel low
When we feel empty
When we feel betrayed
When we are hurt and in pain

Why?
Why me?
Why is this happening?
Why are you doing this?

But while all questions deserve answers
Answers are not always forthcoming
Because life is not a Q and A session
Life is not a simple straight line
Life veers and sways like a fraying rope bridge over a bottomless chasm
Life gives and life takes away
But whether you believe in God or not
Life is what it is

You can answer the question
And you can make the decision

To move on

Chris. A poem.

He shined
On every stage
A voice that made you
Take notice
A guitar
Burning and churning
Changing lives
Through music

But inside
Thoughts and pain
Burning and churning
Shadows and rain
Low
Black hole sun
Dragging down
Crushing him

Who could see
What would come
To be
To take a life
So unexpectedly
Into the superunknown
Exit stage left
Now rest

Illiterate. A poem.

Illiterate, that’s me
Unable to decipher
The signals
She’s sending

I’m not stand-offish
I’m just not sure
How to interpret
Italics, san serif and cursive

A woman is a novel
Written in filigree
So difficult to read
And yet all I truly need

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