Category Sad Poetry
This time he dragged her down, bound with him Clutching they spun inhaling, plunging in Needle tight breaths, she smacked and fought back Against his tourniquet grip, she slipped free in slack Necked gropes as he grasped her hopes and crushed As burning, they spiralled, kicking then hushed
That almost slipped into the present
And became a distant futureI will always think of thee
Of all the things we could have done
And what we could of have been
It is time that has done me
Made me feel old when I was young
And look old when I feel young
Sure I chased you
And never found you
But you kept that spark alive
I counted the scabbed bits littering my heart
And picked them off quickly,
so no one would see
All of the damage that
they’d done to me
But it hurt when I pulled,
and all the bits bled
It made my heart ache, and
it stained my hands red
This air is the air of an oven,
it is so deathly hot.
For days the sun has been crisping the microbes.
A boy has disappeared from the village.
2AM and the foothills of the Pyrénées
lit with light flashes between the dark spaces of trees,
foliage on foliage.
Sparks of light glitter the mountain sides.
Up here- mountains before us, village below us-
it’s like an ant farm, lines of lights
following the twists and turns between
row after row of houses
scaling slowly into the mountains
for the third consecutive night.
II.
The day it happened,
we’d walked into the foothills,
Heart of none, exhausted blank
Deaden to hopes, black holes gnashing pit
Love lays slaughtered amongst sanity’s skin
Truth bare, broken hearted growls.
Tree of life bends now tree of death,
Will for one, all for naught.
When will arid soul give way to soaring rains?
You stalked my walls and found them wanting.
Then you, with exquisite ease,
undermined them.
Complicit I bade the watchmen wait,
For a signal of your purpose.
But you so carefully and quietly,
began picking and removing, unpacking and exposing,
unwinding and reclaiming all,
that you could posses.
Both lost at age four. Pain is evermore.
Is it wrong that I still long to belong?
To share every care and touch your hair?
To pillow fight, fly a kite, hold me tight,
whisper secrets in the dark, swing in the park?
No matter what I say,
I cannot bring him to erase,
That cold December day.
The day was sad and wearisome,
It chilled me to my core,
I’d known that something would go wrong,
Though I could not be sure.
I’d felt so tired and lonely, still,
My heart had ached for him,
Beneath the Christmas trim.
Dear Mr Cameron, please help me do
You see I’m really struggling at the hands of you
You’ve taken all my money, my pride, and dignity
Leave me to wallow in a pit of poverty
I’m trying to swim through quicksand
With sand bags on my back
But the punishments relentless
