Archive for March 3, 2013


The Scribbler's most vocal critic...

The Scribbler’s most vocal critic…

😉 Illegitimi non carborundum 🙂

 

Staggering, my vision cloudy,

I fall to the hard ground.

when life’s sharp left-jab leaves my face bloody,

and all that surrounds me, is the desolation of loss I feel all around.

 

 

I see myself slipping,
down the abyss to where nothingness exists,

 

still, I cling on, groping for a foothold,
for my will to stay persists.

 

 

I clamber up, I stand my ground, though battered and bruised I may be,

my curtain is not falling yet, I have some fight still left in me.

 

 

It is then, in the pit of despair, when all seems bleak and painful and dull,

 

I summon the strength from deep within,

 

I rise, slowly, to face the day,

 

I refuse to sink,

 

to wallow, to surrender, to throw in the towel,

 

to drown,

 

for I am stronger now,

 

indeed I am, after all the years, and all the battles,

 

I stand, bruised and bloody,

 

still,

 

I stand,

 

I refuse, to sink, to drown,

 

for they can try, to punish me some more,

 

but I shall not allow them to grind me down… 😉

Ludwig & Vincent.

‘They said that you were mad, Vincent’, whispered Ludwig to a silent Vincent.

‘I still am, quite insane’, replied Vincent, ‘but you, dear Ludwig, you were deaf, and mad, I hear’.

‘I listened with my soul, Vincent, I heard it all without hearing a sound. Yes, mad and deaf indeed I too, still am’, Ludwig said, smiling at Vincent.

‘just look at them now’, Vincent replied, smiling with Ludwig, ‘look at them now, as they hawk sunflowers, blissfully oblivious of exquisite starry nights’.

‘yes’, smiled Ludwig, ‘look at them now, they crave joy, yet they cannot hear an ode, dear Vincent, they cannot hear it! They do not care enough to hear’.

‘Yes, dear Ludwig’, Vincent sighed, ‘they do not care enough to hear’.

Ludwig and Vincent smiled, each tugging an ear.

A Chipped Heart

 

Dreaming, my heart brittle as glass,

my solitary facade a pitiful farce,

 

shards tearing out of my skin,

seeking release, from cages within,

 

I am lost, in the dream,

bellowing out a silent scream,

 

torn from reality, drowning in the now,

yet I refuse,

I refuse to succumb,

 

I refuse to bow.

 

My chipped heart, may be wounded,

wreathed in pain,

 

still,

 

I believe, love, truth, belonging,

 

will take my hand,

 

again…

Distant African Nights.

1.

The shadows swayed in your candlelit room,

a cool breeze teasing your bare back,

streaks of lightning forked in the Johannesburg night,

as my hands stroked your hair,

kissing your soft mouth,

holding you, ever so tight.

2.

You whispered that you loved me, and I kept silent,

the rain fell, the shadows danced, the thunder rolled, the breeze teased your naked back,

you whispered that you loved me,
as my lips found yours,

the rain washed over our tender nights,

lightning and candlelight etching poems on your burnished skin,

yet a fear gnawed at me, deep within.

3.

We parted ways, and you could never forgive me, you said,

now, after numberless thunderstorms,

the rain that falls,

are the countless tears that I have shed.

4.

You are long gone, far away and happy, I pray,

yet the memories persist,

those precious moments shall never, ever trickle away,

and I wish you well, for loving me as you did,

it was I who was not worthy,

then,

it is I who is not worthy now,

for you were always true,

it was I who always, always,

never allowed myself,

to give myself, completely to you.

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