From the sun that rips raw skin from my back

to the glittering eyes which little children lack,

I cry for sandy days on

and weep for that over which my parents fawn.

Little snake which bites my toes

and makes me think of what I owe,

tell me why the world is quiet and still

and why it thinks I should not be fulfilled.

From the sun that rips raw skin from my back,

to the glittering eyes which little children lack,

give me solace from my loss

and bury in the sand my Albatross.

When angels turn into devils,

Fallen creatures in the flames of Gehenna, scorched,

Heaven and Hell become mysteries,

Where is eternal tranquility-and the endless torch?

Demons masked behind disguises,

Facades as gods, but so unrighteous,

Leaving the righteous crucified,

Trusting in you was my suicide.

Light the candle's provided,

Fades away as time's divided,

Don't believe delusion.

The puddle of wax

Lies behind in our tracks,

In the final conclusion.

"This is the year where hope fails you." -Slipknot "Pulse of the Maggots"

Succinctly put Mr. Corey Taylor.

All hope is gone.  Damn it.  Can't stop with the Slipknot references.  Must be because it's so true.  Faith.  Belief.  Hope.  Humanity has stripped it all away.  We push each other to the breaking point.  We shatter one another's dreams.  We condemn before we understand.  Our own closed minded behavior, our inability to look at the bigger picture.  Our desire to be right instead of trying to understand another person's point of view.  We could have utopia if we could just get over ourselves.  But our individual narcism has doomed everyone.  The only hope left is the lies you tell yourself to help you sleep at night.  Telling yourself that you're a good person.  Telling yourself that tomorrow will be better.  And it could be.  But you won't do anything about it.  And God.  If He/She/It even exists, well, the omnipotent, omniscient has a pretty strict hands off policy anyway.  Your prayers don't mean a thing.

I want to believe.  I want there to be potential.  I want hope and faith and for everything good and right in this world to succeed.

You ask me to speak on faith and belief.  But I cannot.  Because they don't exist anymore.

 I'm 

  an old soul, 

   born 

    eight billion bodies 

     ago. 

       Haven't 

      spent enough time 

     on 

    Earth to quench 

   this 

  thirst for humanity's 

 rebirth. 

                      CLOCK

                                   IS

                                       TICKING

Be deaf to the ones who make an attempt

To hurt you, a tongue of black,

Be deaf to the ones holding you in contempt

For their own unrighteous act,

Who try to leave your dreams eliminated,

Inconsiderate and selfish,

The perfect picture imagined, disintegrated,

From words they uttered, so Hellish

Don't let the words create destruction

Keep your lips closed, hold in corruption

Please, do whatever it takes

Clench the teeth till the enamel breaks.

She is sharp, pristine,

Sinfully smooth

Stainless steel.

Look how she glimmers.

The reflection travels up the blade,

As if the light were admiring

Her perfect cutting edge;

Transfixed as she shines.

She cuts the air, deftly

Dissects the atmosphere,

Leaving a shimmering wake

Where she has been.

She plunges into me

Without resistance.

Flesh. Muscle. Organ. Pain

As sharp as she.

In her way, she splits tissue

As if it were never there;

Little pressure needed.

She leaves as quickly as she came.

One red drop holds to the blade,

The last liquid of certainty,

It clings, it has nothing else.

But gravity pulls,

Makes it shiver with tension.

It splashes on the floor,

Creating a pool of me.

Strange how things bring back memories 

Some sad 

Most happy 

I embrace them all 

They are, after all 

Me

Sitting by the fire

 I see a castle in the flames and remember 

Younger days of wooden swords and dustbin lid shields

of battles with a foe who was a friend 

 Rivers  remind me of  rod and line

 Learning to tickle trout

 and Eel bagging 

Sliding down the bankside towards the flowing water

and rope swings above the speeding flow 

Fun then but now

 I 'tut' 

and reflect on the  foolishness of children. 

Little sence or fear but both in equal measure

Seeing the  fields 

I remember the picknicks surrounded by golden corn 

The fruit juice and sandwiches

The  hard boiled eggs and ham 

I remember riding on the tractor with Great Uncle F

Sleeping in the Barn with Cousins K and P 

Having imaginary  conversations with the Owl who lived high in the rafters 

and pinging the rats with catapults as the terriors hunted them out 

I remember the board walk over the pigsty

Playing dare to walk the board

and the old sow that would eat us if we fell 

(so said Great Uncle F )

We fed her apples from above to try to make her Fart

and laughed and laughed when she did 

I remember the time she had piglets and was told not to touch as the sow would defend her new born to the death

(Hers or mine?)

I remember the ducks and chickens running around the yard 

Being sent to gather fresh eggs for breakfast

The sitting chickens  refusing to move.

One, would peck to stop us taking her eggs.

We threatened her with dinner 

and were sorry when she was.

I remember the days of picking apples and pears in the orchard and soon learning the effects of eating too many

and not just stomach ache.

The toilet on the old farm was outside over a cesspitt

 A plank of polished wood with 2  holes  cut into it.

We used to laugh about it and call it the long drop 

You needed never be alone on the farm 

I think fondly of Shropshire 

Our trips to visit Auntie M and Uncle J

and the stays with Granma and Granpa C 

The huge feather bed shared by 6 kids

 3x3 top to tail very little sleep was had

We shared our holiday bedroom with a huge stuffed Indian bear it stood 15ft tall I swear 

Granpa C had been in India as a young man he had a collection of souvenirs 

fascinating and exotic to our young imaginations 

Granma C had an old out of tune Church pump organ in the back room

She would play and sing hymns as we children pumped

We laughed pumping the organ madly pretending to be sailors on a doomed sinking ship  

Many fond memories come

Taking me back to those childhood days 

No mobile telephones then

No computer games 

Not much on TV 

But days filled with adventure and imagination 

Were the Summers hotter then?

The days longer and brighter?

Maybe not 

It just seems that way 

But those days like the people are gone

 Just memories now 

The days that made me who I am 

The people I loved 

Now gone but never never lost 

I carry them with me always 

I raise a glass to them 

To those days long past 

and those that have gone before