Their dreams.

When promises are broken,
With a shrug and a 'I didn't think',
Lack of consideration,
Can make a broken heart sink.
You sometimes have to consider,
What thoughtlessness really means,
A head up in the clouds,
Or you're just not present in their dreams.

Obligation.

Nothing is ever simple,
Nothing ever sure.
There's always something lurking,
A moment never pure.
I try and aim for optimism,
I fall and grab at resignation.
I balance my desire to protect you,
With the requirements of obligation.

And tears.

The gates have opened,
In they flow,
All my concerns,
Like a flurry of snow.
All the what it's and maybes,
As I try to pre-defend.
Solving problems not incurred yet,
Is the way in which I'll spend,
The time until I meet,
With the moment that ignites my fears.
I pray for smiles at the end of this,
Not anger, heartbreak and tears.

Dear sweet.

Oh dear sweet it is for you,
All I think and most I do.
Oh my heart you hold the key,
To the place where souls soar free.
You could test the patient angels,
You would try a confident devil.
You are you and you alone,
And in your smile, the world will revel.

Decay.

I wrote so much today,
But none of it release.
All of it just adding harm,
Not bringing me to peace.
I know that whatever's said,
Will be met with mean retort.
You never can admit the wrongs,
You simply aren't that sort.
So tonight I write purely for me,
To set it on it's way.
I have to open the tap.
Retained poison means decay.

In which

The greatest part,
Of any day,
Is holding you,
As it drifts away.
The greatest part,
Of any morn,
Is waking to a world,
In which you were born.

About you.

My senses are lulled,
And I start to feel guilt.
Perhaps you are pushing,
As far to the hilt,
As you were born,
Or raised capable.
I take a deep breath,
Let my mind be still.
Then you do,
What you always do.
Live life selfishly.
It's always about you.

My job.

My job,
Is to improve for you.
My job is to heal,
To be the glue.
My job is to soothe,
To be the balm,
My job's to protect,
Keep you from harm.
My job's to nuture,
Help you grow,
And provide moral guidance.
Sometimes, the answer is no.
My job is to guide you,
Sometimes teach.
Help you find your way,
And try not to preach.
It's not my job to love you,
That, my heart, is a true pleasure.
Your love, my heart, your care for me,
Is my greatest treasure.

Corroded.

As I see clearer, day by day,
I see it's trust that paves my way.
A lack of trust can shake my soul,
And stop me from feeling whole.
All is damaged by lack of trust.
Iron foundations corroded by rust.

Take it.

So many little triggers,
In a day that's nearly done.
It wasn't a great success,
But in a way I feel I've won.
Tomorrow's another matter,
But I did get through today.
It's not some great accomplishment,
But I'll take it anyway.

In transition.

I cannot place my soul today,
It's like it's in transition.
I am still working away for others,
But found I had another mission.
I wanted to learn about myself,
To understand how I tick.
I may have become stagnant,
And my protect shield is thick,
But in it I saw moments,
Of tiny streams of light.
Belief in what I know to be true.
Belief in what is right.

Quite so sure.

Sometimes some thing breaks,
Like a stream of light piercing cloud.
It doesn't gently whisper,
It's screaming, shouting loud.
It's shocking in its clarity,
It's message direct and pure.
It's shocking, somewhat frightening,
That you are quite so sure.

The best in days.

A look with voice that's tinged,
Can take a day that was winged,
And trigger a negative stream.
You rip me from the dream.
I focus on her smile,
For a little while.
I focus on what's good,
Try to behave as kindly as one should.
I try not to let it taint,
And remember no matter how faint,
There's a line I must not erase,
If I'm to preserve the best in days.

Graft.

The chasm is visibly widening,
And the boat is sailing away. 
It's quietly and consistently happening,
Day after day after day. 
If I knew how to stop it happening,
Would I really want it to halt?
Why I am the one to put all the graft in,
When it feels like it's not all my fault.

The world.

When you say those things you say,
In your own inimitable way,
Your sleekness gives it power.
It may take a minute, or an hour,
But I see the things that other don't.
I see the meaning in the thought.
I shrivel at what your heart and mind,
Can think, because it is unkind.
How can you not see the pain,
You cause in others.  You deal in shame.
I sometimes despise you, sometimes pity.
When your heart is good, the world is pretty.

This harry.

If it were this...
If it were this.
Freedoms long lost,
Returned with grace.
Peace across a tired face.
Shouldering different burdens,
Different worries to carry,
But a chance to breathe more deeply.
A life without this harry.

Nothing left unseen.

A sentence, so innocent.  
Accurate none the less.
She sees to the core,
Through the daily mess.
She does not understand the nuance,
Does not know what it does mean,
But she sees the thing unmentioned,
There's nothing left unseen.

Tethered.

Though these hours are hard, I treasure them,
For they are now all I have of you.
These hours may not be easy,
But they provide the glue.
They are our daily connection,
Before life pulls us in different ways.
They are our family tree,
That, though deeply rooted, sometimes sways.
I love you, like no other.
This love drives my mind.
So, though these hours are hard, I treasure them.
We are tethered, you will find.

Stern.

This is not the fight I wanted.
It's not how I wanted it to be.
I wanted to have trust in you.
I wanted to just be.
I didn't want to second guess,
Or have to question twice.
I wanted you to know what's right.
I wanted you to be nice.
I have to believe you'll get there.
I have to believe you'll learn.
I want to smile and laugh with you.
I do not want to be so stern.

Go on.

I see that face,
And though I've tried,
My willingness,
To go on, has died.

Blimey.

It would appear that the very thing,
From which I've shied away,
Is actually the very thing,
That turns my darkness in to day.
I'm remembering that there are souls,
Who can set a light inside your heart.
It's not a total fix,
But blimey, its a start.

Fighting spite.

I stop, and realise,
I have to write.
I got lost in trying,
And fighting spite.
Today held a flicker,
Of what could have been.
It's probably not something,
I should have seen.
Sometimes it's best,
To close your eyes.
Sometimes the truth,
Means your soul slowly dies.

Perpetual stealth.

I have a suspicion.
An inkling breaks forth.
That you do not like,
When I feel my true north.
That your moods are affected,
When'er I feel myself,
But I cannot live a life,
Of perpetual stealth.

Rungs.

Am I breathing deeper?
Is there more air in my lungs?
Am I one step further,
Up a ladder full of rungs?
I'd hoped to climb back to you,
But are you climbing the other way?
I have to keep on breathing.
What games will you choose to play?

At you.

Sometimes,
There is gentle light in a day.
Storm clouds can be waiting,
Not far away,
But there can still be a glow,
One moment or a few.
I am happy,
When I am smiling at you.

Golden days.

Oh my heart,
Will they understand you,
As much as I try to do?
Will they be generous,
Will they see your soul,
And know that your north is true?
Will they have patience,
To accept who you are,
And the uniqueness of your ways.
Oh my heart,
May they be gentle with you,
And make these golden days.

To a trigger.

My reaction was to a trigger.
My reaction said so much.
I did not want any comfort.
I did not want another's touch.
I wanted as I spoke it.
I wanted to be free,
To say life as I saw it.
To express in a way that's me.
My reaction was to a trigger.
My reaction said it all.
I have a way to climb.
This journey has turned in to a fall.

Weakening voice.

You might feel ready,
But I am not.
That does not matter.
Not a jot.
Time rolls on.
I have no choice.
As your age increases,
It weakens my voice.
It can never weaken,
The power of my heart.
You will always consume it.
Together or apart.

Damaged.

I feel compelled to see,
But don't want to know.
I lay here,
Waiting for sleep to flow.
In the hope tomorrow,
Will bring a memory hole,
And blind my already,
Damaged soul.

Bottle.

If only I could bottle days like these,
And have them on repeat.
Surviving with a hint of glow,
Would feel like no mean feat.
I know it doesn't work like that.
I know it cannot be.
So I cherish those we do get.
Memory is the key.