The Doubter

To be the fastest; the smartest; the bravest; the greatest,
This all seems very appealing to me.

To be the nihilist; the self-deprecator; the self-implicator; the self-denier;
I tell myself: This makes no sense to me.
But in the recesses of my mind,
Where I know what it means to be me,
In that dark and misty void,
I scream freedom of misery, of contemplation, of belief.
And I see this in me.

My conscious mind plays tricks on me,
Through tired eyes and erratic thoughts,
A vision hidden in the mists.
A vessel presenting my soul to the heavens,
Is sucked under the deadening ichors that flow beneath.

So all is lost to me,
All that could be.

Taken down, once again, emptiness evermore.

Stride forward, pointlessly, onwardly, in vein,
And when I die who will remember my name?

So live this life day to day.

Hollow man centre stage,
Love me……

No Words

It was brief, that’s for sure,
But filled with connection and allure.
The void seemed bridged by tacit understanding.
Eyes wide, no words – but communicating.

An unintentional moment,
With irrational clarity,
Harboured dreams,
That floated amongst our disparity.

My new tragedy,
And I saw it so clear,
When you grimaced with resentment,
As they approached, you welled a tear.
And so to my detriment; all time was lost there.
Stolen and squandered,
Wanted to scream “Is this fair?”

Then came my pain,
The very next day,
It was just before you wandered away.
I’d rehearsed in my head,
But t’was all in vein.
Silence and tactility,
Our parting moment’s name.