As she sits on her chair watching the leaves change,
The feeling of joy seems somewhat strange,
People below are always to busy to notice,
Its beauty is being appreciated by the poetess.
All she can see is the magnificent autumn trees,
How they dance in the slightest hint of a breeze,
The road below her is busy and congested,
But when she stares out she always feels rested.
The light had quickly faded from its bright start,
Yet continued burning as though it had heart,
Complications soon started heading its way,
And this tiny flame was obviously going to pay.
Stiff and broken the tree falls in the river,
Dead silence comes with a silent quiver.
A vast nothing with no one to mourn,
To be depressed or to feel torn.
There’s no one left in the world to fear,
No need to cower at every strange noise I hear,
Or the terror that comes when using my voice,
Almost as if I want to stand up and rejoice.Read More »
The world revolves around the sun,
Winter, Spring, Summer, now Autumn has come,
Season’s change and I still think of you,
My purpose in life is now askew.
I try so very hard to put on a smile,
A laugh as I pretend not to think for a while.
Underneath I feel like I could explode,
But only I know the disarm code.
Fear has left my body stuck to the chair,
I have no reason to be held there,
Silence creeps throughout the realm,
As the terror grows stronger than an elm.
With no idea as to what is happening,
This dismay has become baffling,
Feeling trapped without means of escape,
Looking for a saviour with a red cape.
Silenced by a privileged few,
Will we believe their latest spew?
Undemocratic will of the rich,
Lying that it will go on without a glitch.
The needle is stuck playing the same track,
All the memories play back to back,
Horror crammed with every sick act,
Although not every moment is exact.
Losing the use of all my facilities,
Those around me become liabilities,
Trapped in my ghastly past,
Present-day is a sharp contrast.
I’ve been adrift for a long time,
Without any reason or rhyme,
Deserted amongst the normal,
Wearing jeans to a black-tie formal.Read More »
A clock turns to midnight,
The will o’ the wisps come alight,
Leading to what you want so much,
Ten fingers and ten toes to touch.
