20/06/13 - 21 Years Old
Heaven

True heaven to us, really isn't known,
Where the sun bounces off sands which are rich with gold,
Landscapes so capable of taking breath,
Cutting through a horizon with a serrated edge,
With vast desert planes, which the equator is on,
Backdrops for Mother Nature's conversations with God,
Where each person is gifted their own strip of paradise,
Far from the scenes sold in Heaven's afterlife,
See heaven to me, isn't what's unknown,
Look around, heaven is where you call your home.


22/07/13 - 21 Years Old
Breaking off Contact (Done for audio)

It was night. Darkness fell asleep on the skies,
Until it was ripped opened by a beacon of light,
It's image evoked the beating of the human heart,
Earth appears as a firing range for this shooting star,
Blue orbs were echoed by shades of yellow,
Until the meteor crash landed in a vacant meadow,
Police converged, it was a UFO,
Do they come in peace or appear as a mutant foe?
They opened the door to see if any had died,
Only to find out that it was empty inside,
Excursions was held on the burnt remains,
But eventually its purpose diverted to commercial gain,
A once mysterious and unusual object,
Turned to studio project and a movie prop next,
It was released to the public to inherit glory,
Providing a backdrop for synthetic stories,
A ground-breaking discovery, it should be mad and surreal,
But now parents have snapshotted their kids as they sat at the wheel,
This event's impact isn't even acknowledged,
It's just another method for us to be lining our pockets,
One day, a storm brewed, another UFO,
Came down to us, but in full control,
The doors opened, we stayed siting, waiting,
As the heavens held us down with anticipation,
With a face like thunder, it came straight from the night's storm,
The angry scowl was worn by an alien life form,
It seemed disgusted to be leaving its base,
And it looked at us as an inferior race,
It spoke to everyone of a galactic tale,
And a lifelong test, which we could pass or fail,
They would crash a ship, and see if we're credible,
And we fail if we place it on the media's pedestal,
The greed of our race had us viewed in a bad light,
We sold tickets so people could be viewing the crash site,
If we passed, unending knowledge we'd be gaining, however,
If we failed, they'd break off contact and isolate us forever,
Needless to say, greed was our main regret,
And the alien left us...we had failed the test.


25/08/13 - 21 Years Old
Volcano

There’s no smoke without fire, there’s always something within,
And when any plates separate, the eruption begins,
The plume puffs into the sky ‘til none is left uncovered,
Bringing lightning bolts and spawning endless thunder,
Once a dormant disaster, clouds cannot clear the ash,
As lava floods down a mountain of appearing cracks,
A rip-roaring river, and the colouring red,
It’s current occurring from the current events,
The barrage leaves all in its tracks, battered and bludgeoned,
All destroyed but one tree which stays standing above it,
It branches out, until it’s floating past the birds,
To evade the backdrop of a molten massacre,
In a war torn warzone; this tree stands defiant,
Avoiding vicious advances of volcanic violence,
This tree is forgotten as the magma worsens,
It’s roots embedded, yet can’t scratch the surface,
It sleeps next to the hearth but doesn’t take a hit,
Each and every cherry blossom still remains unsinged,
Still remains uncharred, it seems fire retardant,
Keeping out of the flames, and it’s trying it’s hardest,
The depths below are too deep a fall,
And these natural causes are the least of all,
The separation of plates is no reason for this,
So it’s as easy as this;
As long as this tree will exist;
It will reach in the mist to feel the breeze of the wind,
So as Mother Nature collides hard with Father Time,
Despite the fight it stays standing fine,
Like a stalagmite; its remaining a cliff hanger,
Surviving the divorce of its mother and its father.


15/05/14 - 22 Years Old
Bishop's Trout

I tramped through the marshlands, boots succumbing to floating fauna,
With a fly rod cast out to open water,
I would leave the city streets to reach this transcendental scene,
All stood still but for a cool, gentle breeze,
The only tug on my arm, was from the perch that I caught,
When the float plummeted down to the depths of the loch,
This was different, the forceful fish fled as I grasped the rod,
It would crack the logs as it thrashed along,
I’ve seen trout before, I’d never seen it as big,
The line stressed and pressed as I was reeling it in,
It’s weight was a match for my sizeable doubt,
But not long had passed before I tired it out,
From its fin I lifted, water dripped on my feet,
It was different to see such a mammoth amphibian just admitting defeat,
It’s eyes hung lower than the reeds they wade through,
It’s body and face tinted by the dullest grey hue,
It didn’t fight at all, it wasn’t worth the hassle,
It’s cheeks were scarred by accolades of battle,
Every hook that failed, every line that snapped,
Each time it prevailed, but now it’s time has passed,
No resistance was given, it inspired my thought;
Bishop’s trout just wanted all the fighting to stop.


26/06/14 - 22 Years Old
One Phonecall

Grab my keys, wallet and leave as I walk to the store,
My phone rings on the side table as I walk from the door,
Will I turn back, pick up or stay ignoring the call?
I guess they’ll leave a message if it’s important at all,
The air, thick, weighing down on breathless lungs,
As if under command from the relentless sun,
The barking of neighbours dogs drones over my side,
The same reason that last night, I was awoken at five,
As bags hang from the eyes, the sun beats on my back,
Energy bleeding and sapped and I feel I’ll collapse,
I stop and sit on a wall and then I rest and sulk,
Remembering my incoming test results,
Insist I’m indifferent if cancer’s existent,
Indignant, convinced that the mole is malignant,
But fuck it, who cares, I’m barely living my life,
Despite being given the time I’ve no children or wife,
If it’s bad news; it’s bad news and that’s just the sad truth,
It’s past due and I knew that my life has passed through,
Until I get the results, I’ll just grow my own suspicions,
Actually, that’s probably the reason my phone was ringing.
---
Grab my keys, wallet and leave as I walk to the store,
My phone rings on the side table as I walk from the door,
Will I turn back, pick up or stay ignoring the call?
Actually it could be my doctor and then I’ll know the resolve,
Get the phone and said “Hello” to acknowledge that I’d answered,
He told me “I’m very sorry, you’ve tested positive for cancer”,
Speechless, the words were gone, my vocals removed,
“Now I know that it’s true, what do you suppose that I do?”
“All I can say; enjoy the time that you’ve got,
Breath in the fresh air, and live life to it’s all”,
Putting down my phone and wanting to leave,
I left the house and just wandered the streets,
Beams ricochet from the sky and glow on the floor,
The sun smiles on things I’ve never noticed before,
The late night barking dogs, the bane of my existence,
I’d always say I was a victim and that my neighbours didn’t listen,
I didn’t care about anything but trying to mute it,
But what’s barking from a dog living life to the fullest?
I might not have the time left for kids or marriage,
But enjoying my last days? Yeah, I think I’ll manage.

27/10/14 - 22 Years Old
Can for Collection

The Can for Collection
On the streets I see an old man that leans back,
Relaxed, his two arms marked like road maps to relapse,
It’s sad, a drug zombie that’s rotted and now he’s dead within,
The can for collection he holds had more sense than him,
Those bumps on his arm read failure like he wrote it in Braille,
He’s not even the heroin in his own story or tale,
Does he question his intentions, is there an effort that’s made?
Is he thinking if his children still remember his face?
Or when they fend for themselves, do they hold their own?
Or stay broke at home in their broken home?
Does he recite the nights where he deserted night feeds?
Far gone are the pearly white gates with his pearly white teeth,
But still I like to imagine that there is more than addiction,
That there’s a voice within that still implores him to listen,
That finding what he doesn’t regret is like a needle in a haystack,
And what he does regret is the needle in his frail hand,
Or perhaps it’s the hopes of a fantastical mind,
And I’m pretending that my senses say this man is alive,
He’s dead, face it, the sword’s been dealt,
A hollow body, a distorted shell of his former self,
His eyes locked in a deathgrip with his can for collection,
As in the glare he stares at his damaged reflection,
So if life is a journey, then he’s just walking to hell,
We gaze eye to eye as he talks to himself.

20/06/13 - 21 Years Old
Heaven

True heaven to us, really isn't known,
Where the sun bounces off sands which are rich with gold,
Landscapes so capable of taking breath,
Cutting through a horizon with a serrated edge,
With vast desert planes, which the equator is on,
Backdrops for Mother Nature's conversations with God,
Where each person is gifted their own strip of paradise,
Far from the scenes sold in Heaven's afterlife,
See heaven to me, isn't what's unknown,
Look around, heaven is where you call your home.


22/07/13 - 21 Years Old
Breaking off Contact (Done for audio)

It was night. Darkness fell asleep on the skies,
Until it was ripped opened by a beacon of light,
It's image evoked the beating of the human heart,
Earth appears as a firing range for this shooting star,
Blue orbs were echoed by shades of yellow,
Until the meteor crash landed in a vacant meadow,
Police converged, it was a UFO,
Do they come in peace or appear as a mutant foe?
They opened the door to see if any had died,
Only to find out that it was empty inside,
Excursions was held on the burnt remains,
But eventually its purpose diverted to commercial gain,
A once mysterious and unusual object,
Turned to studio project and a movie prop next,
It was released to the public to inherit glory,
Providing a backdrop for synthetic stories,
A ground-breaking discovery, it should be mad and surreal,
But now parents have snapshotted their kids as they sat at the wheel,
This event's impact isn't even acknowledged,
It's just another method for us to be lining our pockets,
One day, a storm brewed, another UFO,
Came down to us, but in full control,
The doors opened, we stayed siting, waiting,
As the heavens held us down with anticipation,
With a face like thunder, it came straight from the night's storm,
The angry scowl was worn by an alien life form,
It seemed disgusted to be leaving its base,
And it looked at us as an inferior race,
It spoke to everyone of a galactic tale,
And a lifelong test, which we could pass or fail,
They would crash a ship, and see if we're credible,
And we fail if we place it on the media's pedestal,
The greed of our race had us viewed in a bad light,
We sold tickets so people could be viewing the crash site,
If we passed, unending knowledge we'd be gaining, however,
If we failed, they'd break off contact and isolate us forever,
Needless to say, greed was our main regret,
And the alien left us...we had failed the test.


25/08/13 - 21 Years Old
Volcano

There’s no smoke without fire, there’s always something within,
And when any plates separate, the eruption begins,
The plume puffs into the sky ‘til none is left uncovered,
Bringing lightning bolts and spawning endless thunder,
Once a dormant disaster, clouds cannot clear the ash,
As lava floods down a mountain of appearing cracks,
A rip-roaring river, and the colouring red,
It’s current occurring from the current events,
The barrage leaves all in its tracks, battered and bludgeoned,
All destroyed but one tree which stays standing above it,
It branches out, until it’s floating past the birds,
To evade the backdrop of a molten massacre,
In a war torn warzone; this tree stands defiant,
Avoiding vicious advances of volcanic violence,
This tree is forgotten as the magma worsens,
It’s roots embedded, yet can’t scratch the surface,
It sleeps next to the hearth but doesn’t take a hit,
Each and every cherry blossom still remains unsinged,
Still remains uncharred, it seems fire retardant,
Keeping out of the flames, and it’s trying it’s hardest,
The depths below are too deep a fall,
And these natural causes are the least of all,
The separation of plates is no reason for this,
So it’s as easy as this;
As long as this tree will exist;
It will reach in the mist to feel the breeze of the wind,
So as Mother Nature collides hard with Father Time,
Despite the fight it stays standing fine,
Like a stalagmite; its remaining a cliff hanger,
Surviving the divorce of its mother and its father.


15/05/14 - 22 Years Old
Bishop's Trout

I tramped through the marshlands, boots succumbing to floating fauna,
With a fly rod cast out to open water,
I would leave the city streets to reach this transcendental scene,
All stood still but for a cool, gentle breeze,
The only tug on my arm, was from the perch that I caught,
When the float plummeted down to the depths of the loch,
This was different, the forceful fish fled as I grasped the rod,
It would crack the logs as it thrashed along,
I’ve seen trout before, I’d never seen it as big,
The line stressed and pressed as I was reeling it in,
It’s weight was a match for my sizeable doubt,
But not long had passed before I tired it out,
From its fin I lifted, water dripped on my feet,
It was different to see such a mammoth amphibian just admitting defeat,
It’s eyes hung lower than the reeds they wade through,
It’s body and face tinted by the dullest grey hue,
It didn’t fight at all, it wasn’t worth the hassle,
It’s cheeks were scarred by accolades of battle,
Every hook that failed, every line that snapped,
Each time it prevailed, but now it’s time has passed,
No resistance was given, it inspired my thought;
Bishop’s trout just wanted all the fighting to stop.


26/06/14 - 22 Years Old
One Phonecall

Grab my keys, wallet and leave as I walk to the store,
My phone rings on the side table as I walk from the door,
Will I turn back, pick up or stay ignoring the call?
I guess they’ll leave a message if it’s important at all,
The air, thick, weighing down on breathless lungs,
As if under command from the relentless sun,
The barking of neighbours dogs drones over my side,
The same reason that last night, I was awoken at five,
As bags hang from the eyes, the sun beats on my back,
Energy bleeding and sapped and I feel I’ll collapse,
I stop and sit on a wall and then I rest and sulk,
Remembering my incoming test results,
Insist I’m indifferent if cancer’s existent,
Indignant, convinced that the mole is malignant,
But fuck it, who cares, I’m barely living my life,
Despite being given the time I’ve no children or wife,
If it’s bad news; it’s bad news and that’s just the sad truth,
It’s past due and I knew that my life has passed through,
Until I get the results, I’ll just grow my own suspicions,
Actually, that’s probably the reason my phone was ringing.
---
Grab my keys, wallet and leave as I walk to the store,
My phone rings on the side table as I walk from the door,
Will I turn back, pick up or stay ignoring the call?
Actually it could be my doctor and then I’ll know the resolve,
Get the phone and said “Hello” to acknowledge that I’d answered,
He told me “I’m very sorry, you’ve tested positive for cancer”,
Speechless, the words were gone, my vocals removed,
“Now I know that it’s true, what do you suppose that I do?”
“All I can say; enjoy the time that you’ve got,
Breath in the fresh air, and live life to it’s all”,
Putting down my phone and wanting to leave,
I left the house and just wandered the streets,
Beams ricochet from the sky and glow on the floor,
The sun smiles on things I’ve never noticed before,
The late night barking dogs, the bane of my existence,
I’d always say I was a victim and that my neighbours didn’t listen,
I didn’t care about anything but trying to mute it,
But what’s barking from a dog living life to the fullest?
I might not have the time left for kids or marriage,
But enjoying my last days? Yeah, I think I’ll manage.

27/10/14 - 22 Years Old
Can for Collection

The Can for Collection
On the streets I see an old man that leans back,
Relaxed, his two arms marked like road maps to relapse,
It’s sad, a drug zombie that’s rotted and now he’s dead within,
The can for collection he holds had more sense than him,
Those bumps on his arm read failure like he wrote it in Braille,
He’s not even the heroin in his own story or tale,
Does he question his intentions, is there an effort that’s made?
Is he thinking if his children still remember his face?
Or when they fend for themselves, do they hold their own?
Or stay broke at home in their broken home?
Does he recite the nights where he deserted night feeds?
Far gone are the pearly white gates with his pearly white teeth,
But still I like to imagine that there is more than addiction,
That there’s a voice within that still implores him to listen,
That finding what he doesn’t regret is like a needle in a haystack,
And what he does regret is the needle in his frail hand,
Or perhaps it’s the hopes of a fantastical mind,
And I’m pretending that my senses say this man is alive,
He’s dead, face it, the sword’s been dealt,
A hollow body, a distorted shell of his former self,
His eyes locked in a deathgrip with his can for collection,
As in the glare he stares at his damaged reflection,
So if life is a journey, then he’s just walking to hell,
We gaze eye to eye as he talks to himself.