Not yet.

I,
I am not done.
I,
I am not done yet.
I,
Will find it.
Be it old,
Or be it new.
I am undone,
But I am not done.
I am not done yet.

Your own sake.

There are moments where,
A mind speaks for itself.
Though you thought you placed,
Your feelings on a shelf,
They sometimes fall,
As the earth feels a shake.
What would you do,
For your own sake?

Attic minds.

Does sunlight make things clearer,
Or just cover life with a tint?
Am I making progress,
With this tiny piece of flint?
Am I following a light,
Or lost in a beam that blinds?
What influence the weather,
On dusty, attic minds?

Only this.

If it were this.
If it were only this.
If only it were this.
If the other elements did not exist.
It the only reality were that in my heart.
It would be this.
If...
If only.

Off the floor

When you feel you’ve steered your head,
Into somewhat safer waters,
And your ancestors can still be proud,
Of the ongoing daughters,
But then another little happening,
And you’re receding once more.
The trick is not the falling,
It’s the getting up off the floor.

To give.

It’s easier to sit,
And watch how others live,
Than process what has happened,
And what I’ve had to give.

Reclaiming breath.

I can’t explain the tiny shift,
But my gratitude is clear.
There is an upward motion,
Just tiny but it’s here.
I am grateful, beyond grateful,
For whatever light,
In this dark time.
I am reclaiming breath,
And cherishing what is mine.

My mind, my heart.

There are too many words.
It would take too long.
This isn’t a trite,
Hashed out song.
This is my life,
My mind, my heart,
Fifteen minutes,
Isn’t even the start.
It’s too complex,
And thus so much unsaid,
So many things passing,
Through my head.
I’ll never cover,
What’s in my heart,
Because that’s not where,
You want to start.

My tired hand.

To have belief in something,
Other than my love for you,
Is a thing I’ve yet to truly understand.
Though it’s pulling at my shoe.
There are clicks, and turns and twists,
That I do not understand,
But I feel that there is something,
Holding my tired hand.  

The steps I take.

Claiming, or reclaiming,
Has purpose, but does not feel right.
I have the aim,
But it’s an internal fight,
With all, truly all, the feelings,
And it’s not been my choice to make,
But not conceding I move forward in control,
Would make a lie of the steps I take.

Then who?

However hard, I am here,
Watching this unfold.
However strong I need to be,
These moments will not grow old.
I will cling on, with broken nails,
Because that’s what you do.
You cling on and reach out for others,
If not me, then who?

To the letter.

Choosing to hope,
Even when words are grey.
You have to find hope.
It’s the only way.
Something to focus on,
Somewhere to head.
Each day is for surviving,
Before heading to bed,
But the tomorrow’s are for hope,
For dreaming, for better.
This is my focus.
To the word, to the letter.

This older.

Thinking it had gone as best it could.
Being grateful for thus far.
Then the thing you always worry for,
And now your spirit has felt the jar.
The inevitable concern,
Hanging about your shoulder.
Who would think there were times,
When you dreamed you were this older.

Betwixt

Like the warmth from the sun,
A deeper, deeper, air.
Time without them is needed,
But so is knowing that they care.
I will try to package those memories,
Betwixt the complexities of life,
And those things that cut deep,
Like a rusty knife.
I need this life to deburr,
To heal the infection,
But I can still treasure the peace,
Joy and reflection.

A different song.

No rest.  No reprieve.
Life keeps on.
My heart beats,
To a different song.
No rest.  No reprieve.
No end in sight.
I am walking the shadows,
Afraid of the light.

How we last.

When it wasn’t everything,
But was it was enough,
And it’s steps,
If nothing else.
When you didn’t swim,
But you tred water,
And you’re still going,
If nothing else.
When a smile is worth it all,
Worth every thing that’s gone,
And it’s steps,
If nothing else,
Because this is how we last, go on.

Enforced hibernation.

I’ve too quick become accustomed,
To this enforced hibernation.
I am tired through all the tasks.
I want peace and a libation.
Though I may start to wonder,
About the world could hold,
I find that my desires,
Are no longer quite that bold.
I find that life is smoother,
Without the world jostling at your back.
Too much pushing on a surface,
And it will start to crack.

Just not.

Like a flicker of the past,
Chaotic and full.
Before the change,
The broken china and bull.
Rocking the images,
My head had chosen,
And so now,
My actions are frozen.
So much to consider,
Looking wider than fear,
Before decisions are made.
Things are just not clear.

For her.

From now until eternity,
I will carry that strange fear,
That there is something coming,
And it’s frighteningly near.
Whatever you want to name it,
It has become a part of me.
These things I did not worry on,
Things things I did not see,
Are now in startlingly technicolour,
Are blinding and distracting.
I see things you do not,
So don’t question how I’m acting.
I’ve learned things, and felt things,
I wish I had not.
This mind full of worry,
Is all I’ve now got,
As the means to protect,
As the way to progress.
I know I am damaged,
But truly, who isn’t a mess?



For a fried.   For her mind.  For her reality.  For her honesty.

The gamble.

When I close my eyes to sleep,
And my mind I do release,
I am ever taking a gamble.
Sleep does not guarantee peace.

Performance free.

A little break is needed.
Space and time to think.
As I stare into the dark night sky,
Through the window by the sink.
If all I get’s a moment,
A moment it must be.
A moment in silence,
Where I’m performance free.

In every.

She doesn’t have to light the darkness,
Just because she can.
It’s not her role to carry the torch.
She’s not the saviour of man.
She needs only to be herself,
A human on a scale.
She does not need to be one dimension,
She’s allowed to cry, to rail.
Her gift is to inspire,
To provide a cause.
This I must remember,
In every deep breath and pause.

Similarly hexed.

There’s a point in life,
Where you give up on dreams.
It too swift becomes trying,
To simply hold fast the seams.
You save your hope,
For the dreams of the next,
And pray their life,
Is not similarly hexed.

Iron clad receipt.

There are points,
Where I question my strength,
And whether I will last,
At length,
But then I am shown,
My strength outweighs,
Those who I leant on,
In past days.
You cannot rely on rely,
It’s a word of deceit.
Nothing in life,
Comes with an iron clad receipt.

Life become.

I draw it in. I hold it.
My lungs are full to burst.
My longing for resolution,
Is like a desert thirst.
A positive resolution,
One that I can stand.
One that I can stomach,
In a life become unplanned.

In the wing.

It’s there, in the pauses,
Of a busy day.
It’s where my mind falls,
When it gets a chance to stray.
It’s there, omnipresent,
Hiding in the wing.
A never ending Winter,
Praying for the Spring.

Hope is my release.

So many emotions,
But none to express.
I will walk behind this curtain.
It will be how I dress.
I cannot thank those people that I should,
Cannot explain to those that crave it.
This is how I make it work.
This is how I brave it.
I hope for an outcome,
That carries its own peace.
I hope for so many things.
Hope is my release.

What they say.

It’s odd how the suspicion,
Had simply dropped away.
With so much on the table,
There seemed nothing left to say,
But an innocent dropped word,
Can make you question what people do.
You never really know anyone,
Or if what they say is true.