Poetry Drafts

Listening To A Modem Singing

A modem singing,
I could forsee the speed just by
listening.
By flicking a switch I would go
from 150 to 300 Baud during
early testing,
2400 became 9600
a future restlessness abating.
It unraveled,
Bipolar transfer at 14400
I AM ALIVE;
CONNECT 28800/28800 V42Bis
why did your voice
speak so softly,
why did I listen
without hearing,
why was my time spent alone
in waiting?

the silver lining

I saw a silver lining once,

blowing in the wind by chance,

tossed or otherwise discarded

by one who no longer believed;

behind every cloud a sun,

beneath the tears an honest smile,

between the fading thoughts of life

a new year to bring change;

48% and breathing

Today I dared
to leave the House
my Prison of late
a Maze of doubt and
regret in a haze
of Hatred

Tenpin bowling with
nipples erect
Wishful thinking whilst
bumper car rules
fade

Chilled beer and
cold turkey
I stand alone in the
shadows of
better knowing

The shaved head
an anomaly
The beating heart and
curry linger
Only one of those
abating

Why are you packing?
I love you dearly
Stay. Go. Stay. You.
Icecream lingers longer
freezing

Today I dared
to leave the House
With knickers
in a twist; but
still alive
and breathing

Her sadness deepened as she saw the truth, with her writing failing her so had their taste; they were no longer following her. She stood alone once more, with a bleeding heart and no hope for cure

off track

I have derailed, diverted from the path of light I walked through the summer before I was punched in the face; metaphorically speaking. I am no longer doing that which I desire, reading, writing, walking and feeling what is ahead is as I planned it to be. I feed the dark side, and the dark side is killing me.

embracing trunks

as I meander through the forrest

embracing the trunks from

childhood through adulthood

avoiding the thorny bushes of

adolescent shades

I realise I have walked

through the heartland

of a life; now vunerable

I walk without weapons now.
My finger’s off the trigger and my armour’s at home.
Call me a quitter,
but I’m done hitting self-destruct just to see what happens.

So let go of the guilt
and allow your broken body to rebuild.
Forgive your failings and keep on keeping on.
And I’ll keep on keeping on.
And we’ll both become strong.
We’ll both be around long after the burning bridges are gone.

It’s a hollow dream,
helplessly stuffing the holes inside yourself
with half-forgotten moments,
and hoping you hold on to the memories
long enough to say “That was me.”

It takes courage to be free.
I might still struggle with clarity
but I can finally see the path set out before my feet.
Right thought.
Right action.
Right speech.

You might stumble along the way,
but that’s fine.
We only get one chance at this life,
so take it one step at a time.

There’s a dark entity hidden in every mind,
and it wants us to fail.
It wants us to take the easy way out
every damn time.
It delights in torture, and gives bad advice.
You need to silence this voice.
Believe in yourself from time to time,
and you can take back your life.

I still have debts to pay.
I don’t know where the dead go
when they’re done with dreaming,
but I know the darkness is growing more afraid of me these days.
I know in the the silent moments when the world stops
and the ghosts come out,
I can hold these humble bones together
and let them drain themselves of doubt.

Don’t despair.

If you’re sick of seeing beauty through a darkened window,
wipe away the dirt.
Self-love does not have to hurt.
You do not need to justify the suffering you feel.
It’s ok to find this living thing hard,
but you are allowed to exist
exactly the way you are.

Embrace the struggle,
the overwhelming guilt
and desire to lose yourself in drink.
But no matter how many times you fall
or how close you are to drowning,
refuse to sink.

Killing time is no way to live.
Drag yourself from the wreckage
and resurrect yourself.
Stay in love with yourself.
Be yourself.
Open your chest and welcome the breath,
because life doesn’t have to scare you to death.

giraffevader100 days of sober (via giraffevader)

a history book of sorts

my writing, reflections of thought
and and! and? reflection of mind
at times I cannot follow the thread
of thoughts or picture the frame of
mind of that time now gone, the
point of creation and the person
I was – then.

my writing, perhaps a history book
to be read by others, I should stay
away from me and the path I walk
until the final day when reckoning
and final tally is shown, I must look
back then; just to make sure I did
leave some marks, something
worthwhile, if only in mind; a
writer

in the corner of my eye

in the corner of my eye
a hooded heathen lurks
the shadow of a scythe
across my path; cursed

in the corner of my eye
the shadow turns away
fading into nothing
my path cleared; blessed

in the corner of my eye
darkness fast arising
the bell tolls thrice
the smell of cancer; menace

in the corner of my eye
moisture gathers pace
tears taking shape
a path is ending; early

in the corner of my eye
a hooded heathen lurks
the shadow of a scythe
across my path; swinging

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