Windmills, Churchyard, These are the streets, And boulevards. Of forgotten places, And people un-named, And with no-one there, It remains the same. Bitter wind, Creaking turbines, Dead bombs, Deep in Coal Mines. Evergreen Forests, And a gentle snow, This is the land, I used to know. Back when the windmills were bright, A wonderful sight, Singing their song, In the sunlight. Creaking, and twisting, Moaning, and so, Now, I won’t go, For it is gone. It doesn’t remember me going there, When I was young and fair, It doesn’t remember the songs we sang, Of the sun and the moon, Never again. Never again. There is no windmill alive to sing me a song, Or to fall asleep on, Not a windmill in my sight, Not a windmill, To sneak to in the night. All the windmills, Are cold and bare, The ones who left them, Never will care. Will they? How could I not want them back? The windmills that in colour lack. I want my old windmills back. I need to go back when all was fine, And my windmills were certainly mine.
Listen. Can you hear the snowfall? No, you will not listen. Can you hear the rain sigh? No, you will not listen. Can you feel the earth breathe? No, you will not feel. Can you feel hearts breaking? No, you will not feel. Can you sing the mountains? No, you will not sing. Can you sing the seas? No, you will not sing. Can you smell the river? No, you will not smell. Can you smell the dewdrops? No, you will not smell. Can you see the future? No, you will not see. Can you see me crying? No, you cannot see.
The Poem of Forgotten Places In the storm that billows, Through clouds thick and hazy, Never seeing the danger, Never seeing the light. The rain patters endlessly, Pulling in the faint glow of lamps, All this world is lost, In the world of ever night. Seemingly flooded, With memories of pain, Selfishness and complications, Of what should have been simple. Tearing the ground away, Calling in the rain, Darkening the light, Making all things same. Same colour, Same time, Same season, And now the same rhyme. This rhyme comes from soon, The world to be explored in, This rhyme comes from after, A place that we will die in.
I love writing, dancing, drawing, singing, walking in the rain, dancing in the rain, the rain full stop , sunny days, rainy nights, cloudy evenings that part to reveal one star next to the moon.
In front of me, I see
ReplyDeleteAn astounding gold light
As I trundle on to it
Of it, I shall never lose sight.
A butterfly today came to me,
ReplyDeleteAnd asked me if I could see
I told him no
And watched him go
The butterfly that came to me
I met a boy long ago
ReplyDeleteI knew he knew I wasn’t so
Wonderful and kind
With a beautiful mind
And I never let him go <3
I saw a fallen angel cry
ReplyDeleteTis an awful thing to die
You are so afraid
Your life hasn’t paid
For the ticket to the heaven inside
Hate is sweet
ReplyDeleteHate is kind
Hate cures
The simplest minds
Hate is a feeling
I love it so
I want to bask in its
Eternal glow
Windmills,
ReplyDeleteChurchyard,
These are the streets,
And boulevards.
Of forgotten places,
And people un-named,
And with no-one there,
It remains the same.
Bitter wind,
Creaking turbines,
Dead bombs,
Deep in Coal Mines.
Evergreen Forests,
And a gentle snow,
This is the land,
I used to know.
Back when the windmills were bright,
A wonderful sight,
Singing their song,
In the sunlight.
Creaking, and twisting,
Moaning, and so,
Now, I won’t go,
For it is gone.
It doesn’t remember me going there,
When I was young and fair,
It doesn’t remember the songs we sang,
Of the sun and the moon,
Never again.
Never again.
There is no windmill alive to sing me a song,
Or to fall asleep on,
Not a windmill in my sight,
Not a windmill,
To sneak to in the night.
All the windmills,
Are cold and bare,
The ones who left them,
Never will care.
Will they?
How could I not want them back?
The windmills that in colour lack.
I want my old windmills back.
I need to go back when all was fine,
And my windmills were certainly mine.
Listen.
ReplyDeleteCan you hear the snowfall?
No, you will not listen.
Can you hear the rain sigh?
No, you will not listen.
Can you feel the earth breathe?
No, you will not feel.
Can you feel hearts breaking?
No, you will not feel.
Can you sing the mountains?
No, you will not sing.
Can you sing the seas?
No, you will not sing.
Can you smell the river?
No, you will not smell.
Can you smell the dewdrops?
No, you will not smell.
Can you see the future?
No, you will not see.
Can you see me crying?
No, you cannot see.
The Poem of Forgotten Places
ReplyDeleteIn the storm that billows,
Through clouds thick and hazy,
Never seeing the danger,
Never seeing the light.
The rain patters endlessly,
Pulling in the faint glow of lamps,
All this world is lost,
In the world of ever night.
Seemingly flooded,
With memories of pain,
Selfishness and complications,
Of what should have been simple.
Tearing the ground away,
Calling in the rain,
Darkening the light,
Making all things same.
Same colour, Same time,
Same season, And now the same rhyme.
This rhyme comes from soon,
The world to be explored in,
This rhyme comes from after,
A place that we will die in.
The rain goes on endlessly,
ReplyDeleteYet I am not afraid
I have this writing book
Which i had hand made
It fills me with such pleasure
To see my thoughts in words
Etched on a crumpled page
As neat as a flock of birds
It is a pretty book
With brown lined pages
I know I will have it
Forever and ages
Walls of rock surround beside me,
ReplyDeleteA purple night sky ahead,
Glistening stars on the horizon,
This is not how it was said.
No-one told me of this wonder,
No-one told me of this place,
A place of dreams and light beyond,
Dancers dancing with their grace.
The darkness is overwhelming,
It fills me with fear,
But I know deep inside me,
I have heaven near.
Little pinpricks of tears fall,
Down the cheeks of God,
I just wish he were happy,
Up there in the land of nod.
His tears are pattering gently,
Like a lullaby song,
In this smoky night place,
This is where I belong.