Try living in paradise

Still recovering from trauma

Thinking about the ones left behind



Feeling sun on brown skin

While buildings burn down

Today was like any other



Enjoying cool ocean waters

While salt washes festering wounds

Fresh flesh like grapefruit is pink



Looking to the distant stars

Trampling on growing daisies

Only to lay in a field of them



Howling loud at worship

While fearing the whites of saved eyes

Lift every voice and sing



To dance and to be joyful

While quakes lulls sleeping babies

When the dust settles what remains

How will I know
When I'm free to go
If I'm always thinking so
Self belief
Always low
I can't seem to find a flow
Oh no
I can't begin to grow
Was it the accident
All those years ago?
The dripping of melted snow
Blood, blood, blood
A doe
The overflow
The fear rushed through me
A foe
Family put in escrow
A tear drop falls
Whoa whoa whoa
The life I must forgo
An inch of life
I bestow
To the people that I owe
Who's eyes glitter and glow
Without saying a simple hello
I knew that I'd plateau
A love I'd never leave
Although
I'll always stay
Like they said
The loyalty of crow

There is another hole in the old town.

When it rains it will hold water like cold
craters on the moon.Devoid of life now,
each drop will hold the history of years.
Every drop will reflect on scrubbed steps
and drunken Fridays and days off in bed.  

The wind will whistle hit parades over mud.
Grass will pretend it was always here and
cold kids on new bikes never turned out at
Christmas or in new clothes come Whitsun.
Plaques will not record the living or the dead.

There is another hole in the old town.
Shaped like a worn shoe. Hard to fill.


Tony Noon

I'm top heavy; my thoughts are resting at the brim – no cap! Often
my lips leak their thoughts at the brim; and I’m a cup with so
much to spit. I'm words on a spit – burning away time, in these fires
of life. Always the unannounced guests, coming to visit your home;
to make it feel like a show, making sure everything is in order – the
house is live. Also, as you live with a drive, those around you hope
you’re a responsible driver, to arrive with you alive.

I'm the tip of a scent towards destiny – hoping the path where my
soul goes, my heart also knows; I shoot my shot with aims to shoot
goals. I hold the script of a child's life, and my younger self looks at
me, to play all of those roles.

But when the model falls, and rolls over on their stage, do you still
look at them as your role model. At times I know why my self relates
so well to a bottle – all of those emotions a man tries to keep bottled.
While life feeds you time; a man still finds it a bit hard, for that piece
of pride he has to swallow.

These days feel like too many moments of regrets, questioning what
to do next – like the morning after ***. The two sit up, deciding who
will go and buy the morning after; *** can be like sleeping with
your regrets – it's an uncomfortable bed, but the one that you made.
There's no shame in admitting your mess; just clean it up with your
responsibility, before looking to hire a maid.

That's enough overthinking for today.

2-3-25   10:31pm

I want to look for god in the small ways of life
do I already?
well
I do like the sound of birds chirping
and how the sunset bathes the room in a golden hue
or how when birds fly overhead
they're arranged in the perfect formation of a 'V'

...dust. Ethereal disgust;
the, revolver, Earthly,
expires, coo d'etats. Droning,
are; discharges, of, mistrust.

Early, empires, of, devilment. Driven-on;
gritty, caustic, roads,
of, gristled, carbon, and, skin.
Exuviated, by, serpentine; clouds, gusts.

Makes, death; evolve.
Caught, in, each, tyre-tread,
is, every, copied, dynasty;
crushed, done, then... Chaos.
Eventually, everything,
self-destructs.

From, erstwhile, meagre,
nihilism, upended. Cometh,
mere, scintillating, diamonds. Of,
their; cognition, desires, meat. Dust...

© poormansdreams

How do you grieve for the living?
Knowing that they live under the same sky?
See both the sun and stars shine?
Looks at the world differently than you do.

How do you grieve for those that have lost their way?
The ones that never wanted to stay?
Those that made homes out of your souls?
Those who slipped and fell?
The ones with their wings clipped?

There's an ache in your heart that makes it hollow.
Where that person used to be.
You walk the hallways of the house,
Reliving every memory.
Every hazy daydream.
Every Late-night conversation.
Every fight and fallout.

How do you continue on?
When pieces of themselves are scattered.
On the floor like a jigsaw puzzle.
Only you can't put the pieces back together again.

Each piece is a reminder of the way you laughed.
Each piece is a day you hold on to.
Each piece was a thought they had once.
Each piece is now a little bent and broken too.

How do you undo this kind of damage?
When it was never yours to fix in the first place.
How do you grieve for the living?
As their name gets stuck in your throat.
As you think you see them in strangers on street corners.
Capture a whiff of their scent.
The colour of their hair.
An outfit they would have picked.

Everybody talks about the dead with such respect.
What about those that have slipped through the cracks?
Became somebody nobody no longer wants to know.
With nobody to be there when they cried.
What happens to these lost souls?

Misfits?
Troublemakers?
Escape Artists?
Criminals?

All are just labels.
As you try to tear them off.
Showing society who they once were,

Nobody cares.
Nobody listens.
Nobody wants to know.
Nobody but you.
Can see their potential.

How do you continue living?
When you're not grieving for the dead?
But somebody else instead?

All alone.
Breathless and confused.
Looking at a photograph.
Of a person you once knew.