Regrets.

February 27, 2012 § 10 Comments

Alas he says
as he watches television
mindlessly, surfing channels.
Thinking he’s just fine
not having to talk to her
while he wants to.
Caught up in his own ideas
of an ideal relationship;
stuck with but a decision
he took, however half heartedly.

Alas she says
lying in bed with open books,
staring point blankly at them.
She cannot not tell him what she
wants, but he pushes her away
however subtly.
Waits to hear from him
trying to find joy elsewhere
faking she’s ‘cool’ staying
away from him, even as she aches.

Alas what a situation
they’ve both created
longing for each other yet holding back.
Their lives intertwined
their hearts torn
their minds fucked.

60.

February 24, 2012 § 6 Comments

Men who write poems at
60, have found a lover.
The wonder of their universe.

Women who write poems at
60, have found themselves.
The wonder of their universe.

Is it?

February 13, 2012 § 8 Comments

When the skies fall on us
would you stand by my side
and not run away for your own safety?

When the night is dark dark
would you show me light
and not flood flood my eyes?

When the ‘meaning’ of life is distorted
would you bring me some perspective from under the pillow
and not just muddle me in my own thoughts?

For i have seen this happen
and i can ignore this ‘thing’
but i need to know.

So tell me before you crawl out,
Is it okay to be in love?

I.

February 7, 2012 § 2 Comments

I reflect back into darkness
To a place i once knew

I see
But i cant understand

I feel
But i can’t float freely in it

I sense
But i can’t see you around

I watch
Trapped in my own misery

An empty space inside
A void you call ‘loneliness’
Forever unfilled.

Two weeks time.

February 3, 2012 § 8 Comments

If this was my last poem
If the ink ran dry
If i cry my final tears
If this is my highest high

If i just ran away
If the sky falls down on me
If i close my book one final time
If i just break free

If i dont hear the bird’s song anymore
If Satan gives me a call
If life stops making sense
If i truly ‘freefall’.

In two weeks time
no one will remember me.

Where Am I?

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