Posts Tagged ‘Sorrow’

There were times,
Even in the darkest caves of my depression,
That I was most at rest,
Most sedate,
Most in tranquillity,
Almost cocooned,
Within an ice bath of sterile numbness,

Once the tears have dried,
And the throat is already sore,
Then comes the numbness,
Calming yet terrible,
Sat on that lonesome bench,
With only my tired thoughts,
And the grey carpets of leaves,

But in truth,
The solitude is addictive,
The silence is the finest symphony,
A melody of soothing needles,
A drug my weary mind savours,
It’s dangerous in all honesty,
You almost don’t want to get better.

Do the skies suck away compassion?
Because I see aviators without humanity,
Bomber crews without hearts,
Execrable souls within an iron demon,
Screeching along the zephyrs,
Where even angels fear to follow,

Does the pilot care for those his bombs flatten?
The lands rent by his payload?
I daresay not,
They simply cheer in patriotic tones,
Smirks underneath aviator caps,
Careless of the mushroom cloud in their wake,

They return to their air base sancerre,
And toast to the screams.


I was submerged,
A dismal submarine,
Thrown overboard,
Laid low by fates gravity,
Into the embrace of a spiritless blue,
Lashed by whips of swell,
A penance for my idiocy,

For my mistakes,

In the cold of the abyss,
Fathoms and fathoms down,
My only companions were alcoholic guppies,
Ungrateful eels and sharks of disrepute,
They hissed and glubbed only pleases and pines to me,
I needed not to breath,
But let the icy water inundate my being,

To drown my thoughts,

And drown I did for too long,
Until a siren pulled me aloft from the wash,
On a bed of roses and bubbles,
She kissed me with a realisation,
That ocean was my own mind,
The darkest solitude,
And deepest expanse.

I often wonder,
As I gaze at more tears on television,
Does life have a deus ex machina in the works?
A god out of the machine,
A plot twist in our lives,
A magical transcendental moment,
Perhaps an angel could lift a finger,
Or the Devil himself take a day off,

It’d be a game changer,
I wish someone would write that blissful passage,
To switch on the machine,
To rapidly change our fortunes,
Call it convenient,
Call it idealistic,
But have we not suffered enough?
Haven’t we crawled through enough ditches?

Ding ding,

A doorbell death knell,
My pulse surges like a cauldron,
A gasket ready to blow,
There is an invader in our midst,
A revenant with a kindly face,

Knock knock,

The door chants to me,
The palpitations begin their dance,
This perpetual state of foreboding,
It’s a disease of the mind,
Why do you want to see me?

Ring ring,

Outside there are foes,
Demons with torches and pitchforks,
Wielding such threats as hellos and good mornings,
Casting dark spells with waves and smiles,
Don’t let them in,

Beep beep,

Friends call up from outside,
I retreat to my duvet,
I don’t belong in that society,
Why else would I shiver at their presence,
And shield my eyes from their azure skies?

Don’t think well of me,
Never confuse me for an optimist,
I dread each day,
I’m a misanthrope,
A negative Nancy,
A cockroach in pants,
With anxiety written on my face,

Each morn wakes with fiery skies,
A new doomsday,
The next stage of my degradation,
The next worst day of my life,
Alas I rise amidst the rubble,
Like Icarus soaring,
Only to burn up,

But chronology comes to alleviate the scalding,
When I close my eyes again,
The void reaches out,
An oily swimming pool,
Sounds like heaven to me,
I savour every black moment,
Though dreading the next waking moment.

Life is all documentation,
Each movement a form to fill,
A D1 or a CN22 or otherwise,
Every action requiring permission,
Of some faceless bureaucratic ghoul,
Simplicity was too inefficient,
Our bindings were a touch too loose,
So we were bestowed this obstacle course,

I can see my objective clearly,
But an olympic run away,
Strewn with red razor wire,
Burning hoops and dotted lines,
For each footfall a box to tick,
But not that one,
Wrong form after all,
Time to stumble.

There was a clown I knew,
Who had forgotten how to laugh,
Rendered grim by alcoholic smog,
His painted smile had become begrimed,
Layered in mahogany muck,
A metallic sheen of depression,

His outfit was tattered,
Ripped asunder by times razor,
No more a flamboyant ensemble,
His clown shoes were worn through,
Revealing yellowed toenails,
Comedic value turned to dirt,

No joy was to be seen in in his visage,
The years have oxidised his smile,
Sections of his form blowing away like iron dust,
I longed to tell him,
His laugh was not to be found in his glass,
He scornfully chuckled and downed his poison,

He’d rusted away.

Trauma is not a contest,
There is no prize,
Nobody claims a medal for suffering,
We all oppose its scythe,
The piles of glass it reduces us to,

When life shatters,
Like a church ransacked,
My pile of jagged shards is no greater,
No more lofty,
No more fabulous than yours,

Your agony is my agony,
And vice versa,
Pain takes no sides,
Has no favourites,
It just hurts.


This desert of existence ranges onwards,
The dunes a maze of decisions,
Scathing to the touch,
My camel became bleached bone eons ago,
I’ve forgotten the sounds of life and flushing leaves,
The only caress from blades of desert wind,

I ache for an oasis of respite,
To rest my fèet upon regal silk,
To wash my hands in something other than grating sand,
Some pure water filled with praise,
A compliment not from a forked tongue,
Before resuming lifes journey,

I see pyramids filled with gold and felicity,
Dancing a slow sway upon the horizon,
The sight galvanises my steps,
Just a handful more miles of bland waste,
Or is it mirages that give me hope?
Has the heat of being gotten to me?