Short poems

Walk away like yesterday.

Walk away like yesterday.

07/12/17

Oh please,

You walk away like yesterday was just another quest for tomorrow.

Tomorrow the rainbow of grey, none colours and perforated party strings.

Broken diamonds, crisp shards of fake zircons and ghostly screams.

Hellish abundance like lucifer himself lit that Christmas tree, skull baubles, blazing faces of disgraceful misplaced, heart shaped coffin cases, like lost loves to cigarette burns where the mark heals but the place still burns.

Oh please, you walk away like yesterday was just another quest for tomorrow.

Goodbye walk the road with both your happiness and sorrow.

© G.P Williamson 2017

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poems, Short poems

Deserving.

Deserving.

01/06/13

The best of both worlds is in your hands.

Don’t make dreams and don’t make plans.

You may love and live and learn.

Another’s problems aren’t your concern.

Free your mind of guilt and pain.

The answers are questions with no time frame.

Enjoy each minute as the best of both worlds.

Because it’s not where you were it’s what do you deserve?

© G.P Williamson 2017

 

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poems

Confidence capsized.

Confidence capsized.

19/08/13

Confidence capsized only truth through a lovers eyes supporting viaducts that do not work.

No transport chain, no way to work.

Confidence abundant change the word, pick up the trident.

Shower the world with aqueduct tears.

For you, for the dancing for the cheers.

Same again and same again moody blues to numb the pain.

Meditation, witchcraft, therapy and a forced laugh.

Age old clouds in my head surely I’d be better off – wait a minute, time to sin?

Welcome old friend fate, let it win. Who’s to say it’ll have the last laugh?

You might feel stupid but you’re certainly not daft.

The glint in your eyes from power not cries you know that’s where the confidence lies.

It’s not in the lines nor all in a book it’s deep in the soul you’ll find in my look.

© G.P Williamson 2017

 

 

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poems

The last line of reality.

Another one from a fallen notepad I discovered at the back of several books in my wardrobe. It had only five poems in it and the rest were blank.

The last line of reality.

25/08/13

I want to be beneath the last line of reality.

I want to see the beauty in all form of deformity.

I want to hear the whisper of mother nature’s wish.

Is it so unusual to want to live in bliss?

A bliss that’s mine, that I create.

I am your world I seal your fate.

I demonstrate with bleeding crows how I’m alive that fireball glows.

When it’s quiet I have bled and every single one is dead.

All the animals and the people merely ash and now my equal.

I’ve become what I wanted to see.

“The last line of reality”

© G.P Williamson 2017

 

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poems, Short poems

It’s feasible.

It’s feasible.

05/12/17

It’s feasible that when you cry mini raindrops fall from your eyes like warriors of light you don’t have the insight for.

It’s feasible that rocking horse does move and it’s not floorboards you’re hearing at night.

It’s feasible, but is it right?

Is it right how the loneliness echos countless boundaries across your soul?

Is it right the frightened squander for a new goal?

Is it right they’re all together and you’re, you’re alone?

Is it perfect that you are your own home?

© G.P Williamson 2017

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poems, Short poems

Regret

Regret

04/12/17

She wasn’t who she thought she was.

She was worse and that made all his woes better.

He wasn’t who he thought he was and that she never regretted.

She laughed when he said he could go all night.

He cried when she waited a month just for his return.

Together they’d go forever.

In torment devouring each other from within the one soul they shared,

Fictionally – for a writer is always alone.

© G.P Williamson 2017

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poems, Short poems

Bang

Bang

02/12/17

Paraplegic thoughts, half cocked, half fried, half useful desires and lines.

Lines and lines of soldierless armies. Just empty guns on the front line facing one giant magnet for all their colorful hope and glory.

Marching to the sound of metallic little boots to a future horror story and as much as they tear down building after building before me, I can’t help but find…. they bore me.

I flick the switch to an all new ending.

Humming solitude as the guns start to twitch in realisation.

© G.P Williamson 2017

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