Short poems

Mud

Mud

09/12/17

Blazing saddles of stagnant glory.

How the water doesn’t heal but pours before me.

I see the cleansing heated clear meaning, natural and sparkly features of the believing and I sit in blazing saddles of stagnant glory.

Writing, writing and rewriting my own one word story.

Mud – the autobiography.

© 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

Pretending

Pretending

04/12/17

In the sea you bury yourself in the suns rays pretending the heat doesn’t get to you.

Your warm escapism always told such lies.

The pages crisp up and brown off as the leaves turn a new autumn morning to parent a new story without warning.

Your glory empties the seashore of all the love we had before.

Tied to a vast plain where the thirst kisses the rain where we were meant to renew,

Again and again and again and…

© G.P Williamson 2017

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poems, Short poems

Time constraints.

Time constraints.

14/11/17

It wouldn’t be long now, should I turn you down?

The song of freedom you could be allowed.

Reminiscent shadows of doubt alleviates the perfect chance.

The choice opportunity of progression which is the smartest destined move, magnificent aptitude amazing graceful act of altering the world through finer choices.

Every authors dream.

My book.

My voice.

 

© G.P Williamson 2017

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poems

You were my book.

You were my book.

12/11/17

You’re the type of evergreen forest I get lost in without even trying.

The book who’s pages I can’t stop turning, absorbed in your spell.

Another reality.

Are you mine? I can’t tell.

Begone demon spirits of none sleep.

I don’t accept the thirty-five years of misery where you existed and I wasn’t aware.

Begone you are not there.

I clarified with trepidation the open wound of your presence and I bled.

I bled for all eternity the tears of the damned.

Forever.

 

© G.P Williamson 2017

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