A man without a precious gift
Does not deserve his air:
The mind whose contents cannot shift
Should stop, sit and beware:
Though gods are lacking in their truth,
No purpose is a curse.
A man still in his blissful youth
Must still the earth traverse.
A year’s silence, time spent in wait
Is broken with brief haste:
A lifetime of flame and hate
Is nothing but a waste.
To dwell on failure is the end –
But self-belief reborn
Can raise a corpse; give life and men:
No longer must we mourn.
A dead man’s vigour would surpass
All in their pure desire,
For the living have dreams of glass
Which melts on meeting fire.
Don’t tread on those who did not you:
Religion cannot save
A soul, let alone those who do:
Do not remain its slave.
As I write with this weight on my mind,
Here I call interlude: may I find
Such a gift as a touching romance?
Be this so, let me know in advance.
Let me introduce myself here
With an aquatic air
At once displacing that of fear
Like the snap of a snare.
Wet reverberation ticking
The controversial box –
The deep tones the buttons flicking:
With all the stealth of fox.
Pleasures heightened and pain muted
Whilst the mind discusses
The truth — where it once refuted.
Consider these pluses.
No day left behind or given
To another waster
Of time. For I have been driven
To being a taster.
Incendiary words fly from my mouth,
Destroying what had taken months to breathe
Life into. And so to the icy south
Have I fallen: was I right to take leave?
With time gorging on seconds as we wait
For death to tear us from our comfort,
Some of us pray; some of us hope for fate:
All I pray for is that this unjust thought
Is all a lie, or a well hid’n nightmare.
All the confidence superlative lies:
Please let me cry, “that was a false sight there!
All is well: there’s no need for sighs”.
The fuse was primed, and a flame was scattered –
Thus the bomb went off, and the dreams shattered.
The melding of man and psychoactive:
Pleasure. Sin. Bane. Hell. Ecstay. Heaven.
The mind is art and our judgement’s sieve;
Aesthetic choice, these days of ours seven.
Muse to artist, temporary release
From humdrum alienated minutes.
The canvas of life siezed by a quick crease.
Possession is the vice — when you’re its.
Through smokey mask shines altered chemicals
Illuminating the choices of man
Where evolution’s worth less than the malls.
No wonder I do it when I can.
Thousands of crystals have I stole for me:
All ingested for temporary glee.
What threatens the mind more than no control?
Sitting obediently with arms crossed
As quiet as a mouse; blind as a mole:
Yet paradoxical like sweating frost.
Bringing with it the ominous warnings
Of danger. A dark cloud then overhangs;
The definition of a man stripped bare.
I welcome new mornings
Hoping for a peaceful day with no fangs,
No bite. It is, indeed, torture to care.
A past version of me may have faltered,
But for now I wield self-belief, and that
Is the spirit of youth unaltered.
I was stuck shortly, for I was there sat
Wondering if I “had what it takes”.
My mood was falling just as a bomb would:
I talked to some in an odd, worried tone.
(I made this for their sakes,
And my own.) It was about if I could
Save myself, melancholy and alone.
To one side, I embody all their hope –
Then the other waiting for me to fail.
If I was a plant I would be dope;
Controversial, but always for sale.
Criticisms a blizzard of rumour;
Insisting on making life a news story
When all I try to do is capture this.
Behind this plume, or
Smoke screen, I don’t know if they saw me,
But now they’re gone I know who I don’t miss…
It doesn’t call for arrogance or hate,
Nor a reliance on poor convention.
It certainly doesn’t require fate;
All I need is my own invention.
When others support me, I get a boost:
The same is true when they don’t believe.
I never asked for life, but I use it:
A fox among the roost,
Here to challenge who and what we perceive.
I try to stay moving — no time to sit.
Death can bring me to a final halt:
If I can’t walk then my mind takes me
Where I need to go and find out whose fault
Caused an earthquake, or parted the red sea.
In life, days spent with the best intentions;
As a human, problems can oft be found –
Too many hours have I blamed myself.
Draw me away: when I am underground,
I can sleep — till then, focus on my wealth.
Only in the weakest times can we find
Ourselves and our greatest accolades.
Even when it appears you’ve lost your mind,
When your thoughts are twisted more than braids,
This is when your essence will spring forward
In the face of doubt, in times of danger.
Constantly fighting these phases, tiring:
But move always toward
Your most vivid goal: if that sounds stranger
Then review your thoughts and get inspiring.
When times are scented with that air
Where all is right, and strong,
‘Tis a difficult task to care
To dwell on pain for long.
As time drags away ecstasy
And the great returns dull,
‘Tis challenging for us to see
Our past, to which we mull.
Hours spent in sullen, troubling thought,
But where can I exchange
This time? Or was it all for nought?
I wouldn’t find that strange.
I say this with a weary tone:
Life is short, but to my crown I cling.
Though I sit upon a lofty throne,
I know I am no king.
There is a thought which towers above most,
Standing as a cliff overlooking all.
The truth, the answer, protecting the coast.
To seek it, worthy — be wary not to fall,
For the height it allows — unknown danger.
Be true to yourself, no matter critics:
Ugly or kind; stand out or stay in line.
To yourself a stranger
Will you remain. Thus remove these ticks.
If you see it, follow that glowing sign.
Once did I nearly fade and waste myself:
Each day a challenge to my weakened mind.
I sported the wounds but I regained health –
Let this be the beacon to help us all find
Our niche, so all days may be worth living.
Fulfil roles of child, comic and true friend;
Let the mirror praise rather than taunt:
If you take up giving
You will receive countless more by the end –
Emotionally plush, rather than gaunt.
This is not to be flawless, but to know:
A diverse picture, though great, be scratched.
A flower trodden may still seeds sew –
Make the most of life before it is snatched.
We all know the end, so let us create
Whatever tale we wish with remaining days!
If it’s cliché then I reject the word:
The search for one true mate
Could be called the same. The sun’s latest rays
Are all we have: why not take flight like bird?
If you disagree and find yourself squirming,
Take hold of this and cast it to the flame:
This is mere emotion; life affirming.
If your life has no path then don’t lay blame
On any other: use your strongest grip,
Don’t let it drift away — we have no other.
Life is a drink and cannot stay fluid:
So liberally sip
From yours. Treat your passion like your brother:
Cherish it: we are mortality’s kid.
When it rains, let it rain. You can’t stop it,
Forget an umbrella; let it soak you:
Stop and enjoy droplets — or even sit!
Why should we let water ruin our view?
Though any can drown, most evaporates.
Running down your face, but not forever:
We have this or death — I know what I want:
To hear “rags to riches” instead of “never”;
Why not say “I can” instead of “I can’t”?
From mornings where I wanted to sleep
– Sleep forever — now each day is a chance
Where humanity may rightly seep:
Philosophy, state of mind, or trance:
The worse I feel, the more there is to gain.
The smaller I stand, the more I must reach:
As easy as it was, the more I try:
The less I felt, more pain
I was struck by — maybe more I can teach.
The more I crawled, the more I want to fly.
* * *
The inspiration for this poem comes from my own positive attitude and this quote (from Hamlet Act 1, Scene 3, line 78):
Polonius: …to thine own self be true.
How can I leave true representation
Of my like, my look, my laugh or my life?
How can I hope to resist temptation
And stay true to my ideals and my wife?
The appeal of success glimmers at night,
Others parading their wealth and dress sense
Whilst the unlucky majority fight –
Well, they fought. Survival over: past tense.
No matter the topic, or the reason,
Passion blots every metre of ink.
Snow or sunshine (whatever the season),
The only answer I have is to think.
Vengeance or unrequited affection:
My only image is introspection.
Heartbreak’s not unique, but what of drive?
Childhood dreams to float in space – astronaut
Now contorted – they themselves deprived,
Stuck in an office, creativity nought.
Not drawing attention for criticism,
Just more determined to never succumb.
Find me concentrating or find me dead –
All else is a prison.
My upbringing not as tough as some,
But that doesn’t stop red being red.
Moderate English lifestyle, but average
Was a curse thrown off – I can never stop
Nothing matters with an empty page.
Keep your eyes peeled – if I’m not at the top
Then ev’ry sacrifice pointless! Loveless,
Throbbing libido couldn’t hold me back,
Nor could the threats of infinite violence.
With bare hands I’m gloveless,
No arrogance, I just want to run the track –
If I’m not racing, I’m dead in silence.
Modern music’s bass, historical taste:
When I’m dead a whole genre falls with me –
Lure of classics, and of new: since when was chaste
Unfashionable? The minority.
I can’t identify with hasty nights,
Drunken antics spur on more reflection.
Some days’ confusion trickier than
Avoiding endless fights.
Ev’ry day under new inspection,
All I want is to my future plan.
When I write a line and it’s staccato,
Punishment ensues, it’s mental torture;
Yet you know I wouldn’t change that, though.
It’s not a mistake, I need no suture:
The pleasure gained from condensing my thought
Overwhelms all; a lightning bolt of meaning.
That’s not to say that I’m never mistaken:
Another wound I sport,
During this time, you may catch me cleaning:
A better man will I awaken.