Falling rose petals of happiness How long before the stem is bare How long before the thorns alone Decorate this symbol of love As lonely here I wait Remembering your hand in mine Fingers held and intertwined Empty now, my hand I find As lonely here I wait Missing you
This is such an issue, a huge huge huge issue with so many different angles, attempting to bring them all into one poem is hard work, not sure if I came close to that here, but hopefully it mirrors at least the differences
It bugs the shit out of me the way the government blames every little nuance of childhood on the parents of that child. Remembering back, the climate for children was entirely different. Most of what we had was taken from us by local authorities, health and safety people, and so on. Curfews were put in place to stop kids being out after certain times in certain places, police are now allowed to stop any child for any reason they like. Parents are forced to live in fear for their children, because the gangs that gather on street corners now are no longer 8 – 14 year olds playing Blocky or Bulldog, but adults waiting to score the next mugging or rape… Anyway this is the first of some poems I’m writing to kick back at the stupidity of the situation….
Randomly I think of you Your smile so warm However little seen Melting the ice in my heart Reminded of lost comfort I randomly sigh Randomly I see you Flashing, brilliant eyes That bursting spark of happiness Shining through the darker times Reminded of lost vision I randomly sigh Randomly I talk to you Whispered… Read More »Randomly
My head roars with questions Why me? This affliction like a curse The vengeful spite of another for past wrongs? I sigh, shuffling uncomfortably ‘It’s probably nothing serious’ I tell myself repeatedly, loudly Looking at a blank spot on the wall Seeking confirmation ‘Probably just a glitch’ Nodding too convincingly Inside I believe the worst… Read More »My Affliction
Just looking at the way people approach relationships, and the way relationships approach people.
[smiles] cute 🙂
As children grow older their capacity to wound their parents increases. It’s hard, sometimes, as a parent, not to take it personally. Though we know they just don’t understand.
Inspired by something on mailfriends
For Bru 🙂