Poem 21:20

21:20

Hello you,

child yet to meet the world,

yet to meet me.

You are not of my body,

my blood, my lineage,

but a family can

form together

through love and

learning,

understanding.

Your life may start

out tragic, painful

with loss before love

can form,

but we will be

waiting here,

ready to meet you,

love you,

complete both our worlds.

Poem 21:16

This isn’t really a poem, it was me just messing around with lines when planning out The Pathless poem.

21:16

Light footsteps,

dreams?

A film over reality?

Disconnected steps,

surreal breeze of happiness, peace,

spinning and seeing

and constant, and constant.

Lazy ripples

see the life in your heart

crushing, crushing, gone.

Lazy glimpses of importance

searching, following their presence.

Reaching for connection,

chasing and falling.

Muffled sound in a surreal land,

leaves brushing against bare feet,

but cold and ground not harming them.

A body no one sees as ugly

despite the blurred presentation.

Poem 21:15

21:15

A water bottle

large and bold,

2.2 litres you

can hold.

You’re carried around,

drunk from

and cherished,

for the liquid

you can hold

to revive and

 hydrate us.

Yet the bottle

has a dream,

a goal of its own,

to sit in the

driver’s seat and

take us home.

Feel the power of

deciding a course,

of being noticed,

and offering a choice.

But the bottle has

no hands, no feet,

no eyes,

you remain in the

passenger seat,

unnoticed and

alone.  

Poem 21:14

More of a rant than a poem. I can’t even remember why I was so angry now.

21: 14

I hate people.

I hate their fake concern,

their indignant nature,

thoughtless justifications

and self-righteous excuses.

No one is more important

or more deserving

or as hard-done by

as a person forced

to do more than

they want.

They look and find

someone to

blame,

push,

condescend

until all is right

in their world again.

Who cares about

the other,

their life is good

again, nothing

is more important.

Leave them there

to bleed.

Poem 21:13

Right, I’m really back now! I’ve typed up all the poems scribbled during my hiatus (not a lot really, but at least there’s a few). You might notice there’s no 21:10, this is the poem that’s being published in the anthology I helped edit, so I’ll give more details on that when it’s published (we’ve just been sent the publisher’s final printed draft to look over, so shouldn’t be much longer). Expect a poem a day for at least two weeks 🙂

21:13

So easily I discarded you,

object I carried for so long,

fiddled with in absent-

minded moments.

Signs of your end were

clear, and so I scoffed

and handed you away,

to one I knew would

abuse you.

Did you feel that betrayal?

Or have you been

dead all alone;

your ink an

illusion at a

lifespan.

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