I'm tired with these dopey eyes,
About things I have no control,
Weary teary why cry?
Kill me I'm losing my compose.

I'm taking sleeping meds feeling dope,
Trying to function with the rest of the family,
I fell short everytime, feeling like a loser with no hope,
I can't get it right no natter what I Inframe.

I feel sick with every heart skip,
I wanna cry, but tears cleanses nothing,
Tears won't quench the fire in my tits,
My kindness ain't for others to take for fronting.

Glory, country so they say
is why we go to war
so I'm here now far away.
I don't believe them anymore.

Every day just brings more death
and ear drums battered by the noise
as cordite burns with every breath...
bleeding bodies thrown like toys.

Until I feel....nothing
no fear, no love, not even hate;
no longer human, just a thing
caring nothing for my fate.

Men’s lust and greed have taken you
My child I cry for your innocence
They have stripped you bare
No family’s arms to hold you

Servants of greed have taken you
Your life a nightmare of mindless pain
Filth in their trade of your young flesh
We can only hope, without fulfilment

Traders have destroyed your childhood needs
Shackled by incessant lust of crippled minds
Caging youth in destruction of slavery
Where broken wills, make children slaves

As we age and are about to leave the stage

do not rage… we all are simple actors on a small stage … times the platform ….we stand in just a corner…. as strangers all around …. so I have found a solution…. to lessen human mental aberration …. try and detach from all around… be a man simple and sound …. believe yourself to be a new passenger …about to board a train -----heaven bound… with no return… leaving all memories… for times galleries… some years hence ,someone may recall… we once too traveled…..lessen your human desired burden .. to be remembered.. by whom…..

I find few things more annoying
than the overblown tendency
of poets who believe they are
dispensing great, subtle, wisdom
when they are simply muttering
sad words they feel are important
while the rest of us recognise
these are just inconsequential
half formed thoughts completely without
merit or radiant ideas.
It is like a gathering of
crows, each one shouting at the top
of their lungs that they are pretty.
Not me, of course, I am special.

A sudden
sonoluminescence
manifested
in a river of eyes,
a sigh drawing
vision

The spray of their rays
issued into a void
barren of illumination,
its essence devoured
with the absence
of brilliance

Broken skies
illuminated with scars,
fragmented earth
felt the first radiance,
one burst
bequeathed life

Startled orbs
can now perceive
with no sight,
folded forms
can now move
like untied kites

I met you in September
Oh! How I do remember
We stumbled into December
Still a lonely member
January set us on a fire
Only for the rain of winter to come
To wash away all that was prior
No more messages
No more kisses
All that is left are the other fishes
Her tears could cry a sea of creatures
But the only creature she wants
Is the only one she misses

the wind bite
the crush crunch
the sublte grey streaks
of the sleeping summer
limbs cradling winters
blossom
from the heavenly fallen

my cigarette on frost nipped
fingertips
out back the dog on her lead
lifting paws
as the cold pinchs us through
our fur our clothes

the hundred myriad tasks
for today and tomorrow
waiting like the thickening
grey mutation of light
suffuse through its
settled weight
on our mid winter selves

Here lies the tragedy of lost humanity
a land ravaged by men of greed
who never stop trampling on her dignity
with the cruelty that they breed

The slaughter of innocents leave me speechless,
as their blood stains the land they called Home
The vicious cycle of violence seems endless
that I wonder ...without peace, can there ever be hope?

Still the strong-willed will not bow to the conquerors
even with the threat of death and torture.
Their courage remains strong, unfaltered
as they fight for the ones they loved

Night has cast her darkened net
over the sphere of the bold,
gently laying out the black
starred with orbs foretold

Sheets of mist bedaub the earth
glistening strands of green,
second shades stain the trees
daubed with a greying sheen

Golden flowers rise to greet the night
opening their petals of soul,
swaying slowly with no might
within this a story unfolds

Cicadas croon to the southern Imps
it echoes along a tight string,
the grasshoppers not to be outdone
begin to raucously sing