I started writing about three years back when my life was tough. Sometimes i put my thoughts into poetry and create something worth reading and other times i create a load of rubbish, that i will admit are not worth reading. Poems help me escape what i really feel inside. I can imagine a situation and build upon. Alot of my work is from the heart but i just add more to what i feel in poetry. My life is back on track but i have only been able to call it a life for about three years. Before i hated life and my family, now i have setteled down i am more relaxed and i am able to translate what i used to feel in to words and my words are those in my poems. A lot of my poems portray dark subjects but there is one I feel is very special to me and not so dark. ‘A voice of the loving dead’ is a poem I wrote when my granddad died. I felt that I wasn’t as close to him as well as I could have been, and I made an effort to write something, that I feel people would want to happen, especially him. He wouldn’t have wanted to be forgotten but he wouldn’t have wanted to be mourned over. If I was older I would have read this at his funeral and every word I wrote I feel came from his heart to mine.
So he sits, candle alight
All of his dreams, torn in a night
He cries for God to hear his plea
‘Please, please give her back to me’
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I look in the mirror at the face I see
It’s ugly and stares back at me
Fiery eyed broken and bruised
Hurting all over and emotionally confused
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Cry for me, the shadows wish
The world forgets, they’re selfish
Hold my hand, I shiver with fear
Where are they, I want them near
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Help, can anyone hear
This voice, I hope it’s dear
I’ve lost, I’m loosing grip
Please, I cannot slip
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Can you explain the pain in my brain?
Caused by the suffering you force to remain
Can you describe why we fight and strive?
Believing in so many: false lies
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