poems

Not the same you see.

Not the same you see.
12th July 2018

When you’ve lost so much you’re waiting to lose again.
Another time frame.
Another place.
Another girl.
Another face.
It doesn’t matter, it leaves a trace.
A fire love.
A chain of command.
An authority figure that stands and demands.
“You’ll not get close to me!”
“You I’ll not let in!”
A sergeants voice and a wide eyed grin.
A little girl hides inside with tears in her mind.
“I’ll get hurt again!”
“I’m sorry!, please tell me a different story.”
You’re there in between willing yourself to just be.
These people might not be the same as Lee.
When you’re alive but not free.
Suicide, suicide, suicide, see?

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

that heavy sigh laugh.

That heavy sigh laugh.

08/07/2018

It’s been a while since I sighed that heavy after laughing so hard your stomach aches.
Laugh we used to have sigh, aye.
It’s been a while because I filed it inside a cry.
It gets too close to laugh, I don’t know why.
I pretend as I look at the sky trying to glimpse a memory.
It’s been a while.
I relive the end daily.
Remind me of that laughter, This teams banter gives me a time I’ve draft.
Maybe I’ll resign up at last and yet it couldn’t replace our old chats.
There’s a fear in that.
I’m not awkward I’m malnourished.
The unpublished memory of the you I cherished.
I know what I have and what I’m scared to have.
It’s been a while since I sighed that heavy sigh laugh.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

Suicide reality.

Suicide reality.

08/06/2018

It’s been six years this year.
You never said goodbye.
No adios, no see you later.
Just vanished after everything like you so often had before, days turned to weeks then a message at my door.
You were no more.
You were no more.
I still find it weird.
Still expect you to just turn up demanding pizza and helping yourself.
I went to your funeral, it didn’t help.
You weren’t the type to kil yourself.
It’s been six years this year.
You never said goodbye.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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poems

The cost of a daughter.

The cost of a daughter.

15/04/18

It only takes one tale of love and loss.

One dead relative.

One misplaced trust.

It takes just one person with a connection to share to another that bounces off his wife, children or mother.

It takes on pill stained tear, one last minute of hope, one “are you okay?” to check she can cope.

One thought to save a life.

One share it could be your wife.

One comment they blag “I’m fine” as they lay in the bath with a knife.

It only takes one tale of love and loss.

If this was your daughter, tell me.

What is the cost?

© G.P Williamson 2018

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poems

Seven story building

Seven story building.

23/03/2018

A top a seven story building stands a seven story man. With seven story windows and a bible in his hand.

A seven story crisp packet blows way down below the street.

Where a seven story drop awaits beneath his feet.

A seven story inpact awaits with a patient curse.

Amidst a seven story ambulance the police and a nurse.

A top a seven story building stands a seven story man.

From a seven story building a bible hits the ground.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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