It’s not the passing that I’m worried about

it’s the acknowledgement of losing a piece of the soul

a piece that can never be replaced

a shadow

a face

hands reaching out for-

for me?

I was never there

they can’t be for me

but it’s the passing

it’s the acknowledgement of an end that’s killing me

but as I said

like a record stuck on repeat

everything must end

every life must end

I just wish it wasn’t hers.


Flowers We Saved

How on earth

can I be sociable

when I’ve got you,

your body

weighing me down?

I must admit

I’ve dreamt of leaving,

I have

I’ve dreamt of leaving

and talking for hours,

talking to the faces

that once looked like shadows,

I have.

How on earth,

on this earth

can I leave you

when the faces

make no sense

and when I try to speak

I only see you?

I’m trying

I am

but the days are getting shorter

and the nights longer

and how-

how on earth

can I be

just be

in this space

in this air

and know,

know you’re not there?

I can’t

it’s simple,

I can’t.

Going and Walking Back

And I’m back

as if by magic

I’m back

and nothing much

has changed, apart

from the knowledge I

now carry, nothing much

has changed

and it feels good, somewhat,

to be back

and to carry on.

I’d quite like the time to process the scenery that dances beneath me

but, I’m back,

so it seems,

I’m back

writing this to remind those eyes of my arrival and of my departure.

I never wanted the attention,

I can promise you that.

The Anonymity of Change

There’s a lot to change

but for now

I’m content

and what a wonderful thing to scribble down on a page no one will see

I’m content

my words still remain unknown

my face still

no one knows

but I’m content

secure within my own anonymity

and there’s still a lot I could change

there is

but I can’t say I will

as of yet.

Looking at it This Way

I can just picture it now,

my mother balling down the stairs,

tears looking like two rivers

on either side of her face.

I don’t know much about death

but, as time continues to roll

forward, I’m learning as I go

and I’m waiting,

waiting for the day my mother

bounds down the stairs,

rivers overflowing,

not knowing where to look,

mouth mumbling something

I can’t even understand

and I’ll,

I’ll be able to do nothing,

just nothing.

I think death,

It’s a brilliant concept for the lazy:

sit back,

do nothing

and wait.

We can all do that.

Getting Older

Just remember the poetry

when all else is gone

remember the words

see the words

words that flash up in the corners of the mind

where memories once were.

Just remember the poetry

when all else disappears

and meaning filters away

just remember the faces

the lines written for each one

just remember

when all else is gone

it’s gone

the world will turn to a darker shade of light

and the sun will look more like the moon.

Just remember the poetry

just remember this poetry

if it can even be classed as such

just remember us

the artist’s who

despite everything

will always try to create

whilst the sun moulds into the back of the moon

and memories spell out letters

screaming out verses

we can’t even remember.