Pain

The pain of unreciprocated love
Is something that everyone knows once and
Fits this deep wounded soul just like a glove,
Holding the pierced heart in the bleeding hand.
In the end we all have to choose to die
Or find someone else we can crucify,
Forget your gender and render the sky
A new colour in your burgeoning eye --
You can live, just remember how to try,
Shrug off death and don't ever eat the lie:
We must try to free the pigs from the sty,
Seek out and capture, and shoot down the spy.
We want to stop your pain but not to pry,
We try to understand but you ask, why?

Over The Disease

He swears to himself tat he will
Not let the curse of a cancerous growth
Consume the power of a sacred oath:
Determination will defeat the hill,
Overcome the tumour that seeks to kill
Faculties, mental and physical, both,
His shortened span never allows for sloth
And he struggles on still though he is ill --
Certain others would throw him in the bin
All because if this ripening disease,
But does it free him from having to try
By blaming it on a carcinogen?
Or, just, when he fails it saves their unease,
They can't help it as they watcha friend die.

14 Lines

Every single set of fourteen lines
In an eloquent form of verse enshrines
The message I'd wanted to put across:
That is why I truly love the sonnet --
I'd place the weight of my love upon it;
A structured form, the words, can truly emboss.
A successful sonnet defines
Its themes while following traditonal signs.
I write these lines for Shakespeare's great ear,
Though he's passed on from this sublunar sphere,
Held to the glowing breast of yesteryear --
His excellence is something all should steer
Towards if it is at all possible;
The attainment isn't impossible.

A House Of Lies

Throw away your mind
And stow your head,
Forget the so-called truths you find --
Truth is already dead!

This is a house of lies,
Myriad eyes.
Falsehood
Stains the wood,
Lies brood
In the food --
There is no trace
Of your face
Left in your portrait,
That is a rendition of hate
And this is your fate.

All the skeletons wait
In closets shut,
You sense it in your gut,
But drawn to your demise
You see with blinkered eyes.

You turn in laboured motion
As you're drowned in the commotion,
Hands outstretched for help from the stranger
You learn the truth and see the danger.

All the conspiracy's men
Have taken positions again
To push you into dire situations,
They conspire to bring their creations
To life and light,
Moving limbs in the shadows of night.
Plans fructified
And scenarios eyed --
All of them lied.

Responsibility Claimed

The triggered revelation of death
Opened their eyes,
Tongues of shrapnel burnt with truth --
Knives through butter spreading realisation.
The peeled physiques of vulnerability
Screaming injustice,
Innocent eyes melted in sockets.
Instantaneous initiation into the most
Inexclusive club around:
The dead.

The car flickered with a yolk of flame,
Its shell cracked,
The body inside lifeless --
He'd been told to drive or his family died,
His smeared cheeks and bleared eyes
Followed the road until he
Stopped dead...
The clocks hands came together
And the clap called for no encore --
This was the final act.
The curtains of flame sprang up
And out;
Conflict's flower bloomed in the street.

The prone bodies of horses,
Riderless,
Littered the streets:
Foam flecked lips pulled back over teeth.
The incendiary device was owned by the --
Who claimed responsibility,
Regretted innocent deaths
And left a family mourning
With a husband and father
Already cremated for his funeral.

Sharing Words

They do not speak his language --
He rolls out his speech
For his ideas to recline on
But the repose is uncomfortable:
A picket fence walks to the horizon
Dividing him and their perception --
He has inherited the legacy of Babel.

It no longer towers,
Sunk in the foundations of misunderstanding,
Only a home of ignorance is built.

Conflict cooks on the fire,
The hungry military mouths wait --
The aggressive minds are moths to moonlight,
Offensives are built up out of the map.

All the roads are blocked
And barricades erected,
And purposes set in the concrete of belief,
Spirits are steeled for war,
The magazines are loaded and clipped,
The fuses cut and the bombs placed:
This universal language has no barriers,
It crumbles them --
This is deconstruction of difference:
The similarity of death,
They speak this language.

The thunder of words invades heads,
Bodies are laid out
And bags for the bodies to recline in,
The repose is not uncomfortable
For they are past comfort --
So are the flowing eyes
Reading the telegram,
Sharing words in the tongue of mourning.

Another Person In My Job

i wish that i could open my gob
and talk to the man about my job
and why he gave it away to someone else
but i get angry and am beside myself
watching myself stay quiet
surely i should start a riot
and call this man out for being a liar
but part of me tends to instantly retire
from a fight even if i'm in the right
because what is the use in spite?
what use in holding onto hate?
karma will balance in his reckoned fate
but i get a reputation as a doormat
and expectation willeventually make me that
ah, well, this chance has gone by the by
next time i will have to try
and be more ruthless
reprimand these men whose lives are truthless