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As the title may suggest this is my journey, a pathway from chaos to order told through poetry.  It’s an exciting, affecting, and meaningful story.  An interesting read for anyone to enjoy. I also believe it has the power to encourage anyone who is trying to find their place in the world, who may be lost searching for meaning, a story with answers to a better life.

The journey begins with chapter 1 ‘Ill Fated Energy’ written about episodes of mental confusion, mania and breakdowns. ‘Seeing Death’ describes a suicide attempt. For a time, I was what I can only describe myself as a street urchin, living a crazy life. If I wasn’t ‘fucking, thieving or fighting’, as was our saying, I was in prison and going nowhere very quickly as described in ‘Troublesome’ chapter 2.

Chapter 3, ‘Penetrating Words’ I’m trying to understand the opposite sex with lust, heartbreak, and betrayal.

I start to listen to my conscience in Chapter 4 ‘Winds of Change’ as my soul cried out for meaning. I plead with God to enter my life and He pushes me to seek out answers, looking where I least wanted to look, at myself.  From this, I found therapy, one of the toughest battles I’ve been through. However, also the most rewarding. Much of this chapter reflects on my therapeutic process. The poem ‘Thy Will be Done’ is written to my daughter which I wrote after one tough session.  During therapy I felt the chains coming off one by one with each session. ‘Wild Winds’ is written about my therapist Dr. Melany Ball, and where I was as we departed ways.

‘Into the Light’ the 5th and final chapter, where it all starts falling together, and I share the answers to my deepest questions.  I also find true love with a tall blonde, who looked at me twice and inspired me in abundance to write of falling in love and the answers to transformation. Finally, I could not have been able to write this book or face my problems without reading 12 RULES FOR LIFE by Dr. Jordan B. Peterson and A MANS SEARCH FOR MEANING by Dr. Viktor E. Frankl.  I thank God for their wisdom, care, and encouragement.  Thank you and enjoy, K.L. Smith.

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I’m Free

My reality, I submit onto the spirit
as feelings form into tears
with each tear I taste
I realize again faith is sufficient.

It's difficult to accept matters of this world
flesh will more than condemn
hope slides seeming all to to be lost.

His blood again has cleansed me
spirit lead me where I need to stand
raindrops become my rhythm
this world can keep its merry band.

Through his painful attacks
my arms reached out in praise
I need not a silver cloud
nor even the wings of an angel
to remind me who I serve to know
whom is my Lord.

He was flogged and tortured.
He carried His cross.
His blood shed for me
I’m not imprisoned by guilt
but through his love like the truth
I'm free.

False Prophet

He came in a cloak of gentleness,
He shrugged to mercy while promising bless.
But underneath the sheep soft skin,
A ravenous wolf - waits within.

Cries of scorn spill from the lips,
Calls for heads - and severed finger tips.
In 'holy war' their voices rise,
Oppression burning in their eyes.

Gods true plan, or cunning lies?
A false prophet in disguise.
Test the spirit, search the heart,
Let truth and error stand apart.

For he who strays from Christs own way,
Falls to shadows that betray.

Yaxley

They tried to bury him in lies
Took his home, tore his family,
broke his mind.
He heard the prison walls condemning.

But truth releases - restoring ruin.
His stubborn fire burns chains.

He fights not for glory nor hate.
But for love of his - and those forgotten.

A shepherd boy with stones.
A giant rises - a country moans.

Bruised, scarred not even steady.
But a shout from the crowds
beyond the towers of the mighty - ignited.

God whispers - stand! 

And stand he does.
underneath the cross, of St George.

Old Demons Wait

I was never self-diagnosed,
but for years I self-medicated.
My life until I met her,
was tangled and complicated.

Prison walls and darker nights
the suicide I survived.
I saw demons in the shadows,
yet still I am alive.

She carries childhood wounds,
her own long wars to weather.
In His good time, God watched
as we came together.

Now in love we've found a peace
that keeps away the thunder.
Still keep your guard, 
those old demons wait -
they wait to pull you under.

Steady Stay

The storm knew my name as a child
crashed early through my door.
My small hands were no match
I knew the shadows voice before.

Years passed, the waves smashed
yet still I crossed each sea.
Damaged like the winter oak,
yet His roots grow deep inside of me.

Always a peace in the aftermath
once suffering has had its way.
I feel the Holy Spirit of God,
not pushing - but a steady stay.

I rise again yet this, I wonder,
through all this fire and pain.
A forge to shape a humble man,
for work beyond his name.


Toby Jug

Boots off by the Milton rug,
She brings me lager in a Toby jug.

Friday fish 'n' chips, stroll by the sea
A half-time pie, a cup of tea

Cobbled lanes and Sunday bells
Royal pomp and roast dinner smells

Rain taps, pointing blame
A good old pub relieving pain

Stubborn oak and sceptred blood,
Sarcastic wit beneath the flood

Glory to God who gave us St George
England stands, like iron in a forge

With Winston's spirit steady and snug.
I'm English as this Toby jug!



Untouched by Aim

Friedrich got me thinking - as I reach
for the impossible.

My hands tremble as I write.
My hope attacked - morning, noon, and night.

Those eyes I once loved - red like the fire
in which I stand.
Still it trembles - but I ink with this
right hand.

Its unsafe to write a poem when ached 
in purpose, or a song that's sang in pain.
In a search for something higher,
the soul, never to blame.

Let the demons mock my weakness,
let the storm oppose my will.
Elegy's aren't created easy, but my heart
can climb uphill.

If I fall Lord, let it be forward, my eyes
fixed on the distance flame.
Better to die while reaching, than to live
untouched by aim.

A Beatiful Regret

I could tell by her movement she’d been drinking

not drunk, just enough to make a sane man look away.

But want was louder than my sense.

With every step closer, the smell of cigarettes and french perfume grew stronger.

I should’ve run, but the moment was stolen. I knew every touch would later bleed.

She was trouble, yet there was a twinkle in her eye — or maybe it was the tight jeans, the dark, straight hair.

Now she screams inside my peace, a beautiful regret!







	


	





	

		
The wee Church in Overleigh Cemetery.
	


	
	

		

Standing high where the silent sleep,
Among the graves the English earth keeps.
Sword-cross of stone, a cenotaph stands,
Guarding brave souls, the names of this land.

Incense drifts on the solemn air,
Byzantine chants weave the branches bare.
Saint Barbra prays above the grounds,
Where life has departed. yet Christ is found.

Time meets eternity, the living pass.
Faith growing strong in the roots of her grass.
Here beauty blooms where death may lie.
A sacred bridge amidst earth and sky.

	


	





	

		
Shrove Tuesday
	


	
	

		

Pancakes and laughter tossed in the air.
Mummy mixing more - flour everywhere.

Children cheer - pancakes, dinner, dessert.
Sugar rains down lemons squirt.

A table laid, wine and beer.
Family moments we hold so dear.

As the syrup flows in ribbons of gold.
Daddy recalls a story told.
The feast before the fasting phase,
Christ in the desert forty days.

Flip the pan and fill your plate.
Yet pause - Shrove Tuesday contemplate.

	


	





	

		
The man I was
	


	
	

		

Bent steel still warm, tight in my hand,
Heart cold - anger blazed, its blurred where I stand.
Demon on my chest, his blood drips from my fingers,
worry whispers, but hatred still lingers.

Out of hell, were not the same,
ash in my breath, got the devil to blame.
One not enough, so in fury I swung,
blade rise and fell 'til no breath my lung.

Turned his head so I plunged his back, he be dead.
I left nothing unsaid.

Sirens crying, still blood on my skin.
War on the street. I know my battles within.

Years of this life without the cross,
I didn't just stab him - but the man I was.