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Old parchment marked with faded ink from years past,
A compass cracked from being dropped too many times,
A cellphone, worn and dead from ancient consultation,
Cluttered markings on a map, jumbled mess of roads,
Bald tires from driving in large circles without stop,
Piles of books with one stuck beneath the rest,
Dog’s bone buried among so many skeletons in the yard,
The arm of a junkie with several scars of abuse,
Young kid locked away for countless petty crimes,
Stoners isolated, caught up in their elation,
A green frog surrounded by bumpy brown toads,
A scarecrow left solitary in the field of an old crop,
The submitted assignment in a pile of others, never best,
A polished stoned buried with others, pressed and tarred.


And it still rings,
No one answers,
It rings louder,
I answer and no one is there,
I hear nothing and I hang up,
I soon forget it and it rings,
And it still rings,
The inside whirs,
It rings louder,
My ears cannot stand anymore,
The ringing will never lessen,
It rings, and rings, and rings, and rings,
No pause, no break,
Never ceasing,
Always ringing,
No silence remains here for me,
Just grinding ringing in my ears,
Ring, ring, ringing, never ceasing.

A seed yet to sprout,
Nothing but to wait,
Yet do not despair,
For one day you will break out,
Just be patient, you’re not late,
Very soon you will be there,
Time to buckle down,
Prepare yourself now,
For the time has come,
Embrace the sun, do not frown,
The warm rays on ev’ry bough,
Seeds, where all greatness is from.


Some days the shadows surge and swirl,

They rush forward in eager anticipation,

Hoping that I cut off,

Another piece,

And fling it,

To their ravenous maw but,

That is not me anymore,

And I refuse to feed them any longer,

I no longer bleed for others,

Your barbed words,

Your veiled strikes,

They find no purchase on my form,

I walk in the light with head high,

These tears I cry are not in pain,

They mourn your lack,

Of understanding.


This constant battering,

These ever present storms,

They fly against us, darkness spreads,

So cold, teeth chattering,

Make us writhe like worms,

So much pressure inside our heads,

The world is washed away,

In so many flurries and snows,

One after another, just constant dark,

Barely time to shout or say,

'Stop!' in the face of this flurry of blows,

These days have certainly left their wicked mark.

Coming to Terms

Being the only dead flower in a field of roses,

Constant criticism and a lack of vibrant colour,

But I am not dead yet, I just need care,

No, I will not fade yet, I just need love,

These roots are still strong, they run deep,

I won’t run, will not beg for your favour,

I am still strong, not as dead as I look,

My vision gazes at the world above,

I see beautiful waterfalls, enormous forests above,

And it begs the question what is beauty, am I not it,

Can I not be as beautiful as them,

What do I need to do to feel right,

Dispell this stress and erase its compound,

I envy these roses that surround me,

Graced with beauty, flaunted without a whim,

Lacking this grace haunts me still, imperfect.

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