One of my favourite poems ever written
Tag Archives: Creative writing
Princes at War
A prince, but never to be a pauper.Sold the family crown, and headed, California.Our dear King Charlie had praised the fab four.Now two princes gone to war.The Queen is turning in her grave, surely Dianna in dismay.The dog bowl prince, too much to say.Can peace talks ever begin? Princes at war.Or another broken necklace, andContinue reading “Princes at War”
‘On’
One day, I’ll be gone. But in my words, I’ll carry on. an ‘on’.
Is There Really Now No You and Me
The sun burst from the river flowing, not love that caught my eye. The days I cursed somehow inside did treasure, Our love that made me cry. I need you here, why are you there? How can you not care? Enable this void while I walk a highway of troubled souls. Bring the light ofContinue reading “Is There Really Now No You and Me”
Right
There isnt anything more fulfilling than doing what is right. After that, just try to write.
Real World
I’m struck still where I stand, as the low Autumn sun shines bright, in all Gods glory and wonder. As I take in such frightening beauty, on my future, I ponder. On this hill like my life, I hit a blind summit. Feelings of the past are sad. Though I trust there’s increased beauty downContinue reading “Real World”
Her
The suns light beams through the branches of the tree tunnel you entered. Like her, beautiful! Like your lies you invented. She smiled as the birds were singing. Fantasied, as in the distance the same church bells as today, ringing. Into her life you came. Feeding and living from her pain. Freedom, no longer waiting.Continue reading “Her”
The Blade
I guess I was just kid back then. But I now know why you hated me so much. ‘My weak mind.’ It coudn’t have made sense to a man like you. It’s hard still now to say aloud, that you once made me cry. I didn’t realise what you were doing. Maybe I still don’t.Continue reading “The Blade”
Into The Light
From obscure realms the whisper of my conscience mutated into screaming. Only gathering my cross carrying the load when the soul cried out for meaning. As the sun I arose the hero of the day, victorious from the dark night’s fight. Beaming away insanity, like a baby emerging into the light.
Butterfly
The violins cry out for cultural identity. As bullets still fly from klashnikov’s. “The cold is coming.” Sounds the whispers of suicidal writers. Innocence is manipulated, developed, then kills. Released from hate. The defiance, awe inspiring. As caterpillar to butterfly, let the metamorphosis happen. In a white stoned building I see lions in crowns movingContinue reading “Butterfly”
Smith Shine Poetry 