*If you are here reading this for a SWC excerpt, then please if you've ventured this far it would be appreciated if you read it *all* or at least my more recent poems ^^

Free Verse Collection
—
Trembling Flames (2020)
—
In the piercing wind,
It flickers into night.
And is this really all we do,
To use our little light?
To wield the heat of flames,
Is not to keep but to give.
And whatever we have of strength,
May we be assured that one more flame will live.

The life that we call our own,
Is neither strong nor free.
A flame in the wind of death;
It trembles ceaselessly.
Lost,
It takes a breath.
Though there is nothing we can do for the stress.
A flame in the wind of death,
As it takes its last breath.

Only 10 Remained (2021)
—
Only 10 remained,
When we knocked them down to their knees,
Pried their hearts open,
And scavenged their remains.
Only five remained,
When we burnt their houses down,
Left them in a state of smouldering ruins,
Mocking their pride.
And none remained,
When we built our cities,
Up from the ground and ash and ruins,
Knowing that,
We shall start over,
And we shall be great once more.

A Lack of Certainty (late 2021)
—
To rise higher or to not,
And that is yet another dream I have forgot.
Is there a beauty in our midst,
Or is it just another myth?

For a lack of certainty,
I fear,
Is creeping near.
I think of it like a jeer.

An empty pocket,
And a pen,
What a lovely old friend.
Jotting notes and storms and verses,
In a book.

Though I find it not yet clear,
Why we are all here.
Did we conquer the others,
And made them fear,
The existence we foreseer?

I was asleep while you were dying;
Flying.
And high above our world,
Did you see it all,
And was it pure and true and bold?
That’s what they say it’s like.

I was asleep while you were dying;
Flying.
It’s as if you slipped through some rift,
A hollow I made between my slumber and my waking.

But again I still keep trying;
Crying.
Trying not to let go,
Though you’ll be dead again tomorrow,
I know.

But in my dreams you live and dance and breathe,
So I try taking you back into morning.
Sleep-heavy and turning, my eyes open,
For I find that you do not follow.
Again and again, this constant forsaking.

They say you’re in a better place now,
But it’s not better for me.
They say you’re in a better place now,
Where you can fly,
But I’m left to die.

Again and again, this constant forsaking.
Still I wish to open my eyes and find you follow,
Though you do not,
For only a burden shall follow,
You back into morning, sleep-heavy, turning.

But in dreams you live and dance and breathe,
So I try taking,
Not to let go.
But know that again in the morning,
You shall not go,
For only a burden shall follow.
Erebus know I keep you in—still, trying—

I was asleep while you were dying,
Were you flying?

An Old Friend Of Mine (2021/22)
—
Lean back now,
Lean back and breathe,
For your words have already been weaved,
Your wonders have awoken,
The hope and light we breathe.

Lean back now,
Lean back and breathe,
For your notes and chords and melodies,
Have been memorized and chanted,
Travelling like a breeze.

Across the wooden neck,
And down along your spine,
Fingers picking, plucking,
The strings and notes you declined.

Vibrations echo in my chest,
Guiding my heart—
Beat.
And with every flick of your fingers,
I realise the rest,
You wouldn’t even take at your best.

You stood down the best,
And refused the blessed.
I think of it like strumming melodies,
Again and again.
A pattern,
Pitter patter,
Moving down, down,
Downwards—

The familiar tones of an old guitar,
An old man,
Coming from his armchair;
An old friend of mine,
Home is where he is,
And he is always with me.

This old guitar,
It taught me how to sing a love song,
It gave me company:
The warmth to those cold and lonely nights.
It showed me how to laugh and cry,
And introduced me to some friends of mine.
Helped me make it through some lonely nights,
What a wonderful friend to have on a cold night.
Cunning Thieves (2022)
—
Cunning, fearless, ravaging thieves,
Are not likely the,
Most selfless of us.
All eyes on the green leaves,
That sway in the trees.

One falls as the others grieve,
Picked up by the wind;
Oh, what cunning thieves.
The orchid of trees glare and loudly heaves

The blue-tailed magpie silently observes,
Thinking to himself: Oh my, what nerves.
For courage is scarce and never shows,
Carried away by the wind’s blow.

A no-show, despite—
The thieves,
That wander and sonder and leave,
To let the peace be.

Twilight is coming and it’s soon upon us,
For the leaves can no longer grieve,
And the orchids are not to heave.
It’s getting late now and the sky is dark;
It’s time to leave the park,
And hunt for more food reserves.

Never Trust A Mirror (2022)
—
Never trust a mirror,
For the mirror always lies,
And a mirror cannot tell you,
What lies on the inside.

Never trust a mirror,
For the mirror always lies,
Your worth is not determined,
By what you see on the outside.

Never trust a mirror,
For the mirror always lies,
It shows only your skin,
Which does not always abide.

A mirror only shows your skin,
Which does not always abide,
For your worth is not determined,
By what you see on the outside.

Never trust a mirror,
For it does not capture your smile,
The blush on your cheeks,
As you drift off, seeking sleep.

Never trust a mirror
For the mirror always lies,
It never shows what he sees,
When you’re only being you,
Or how your eyes light up,
When you’re loving what you do.

Never trust a mirror,
For the mirror always lies,
And a mirror cannot tell you,
What lies on the inside.

Your reflection cannot tell you,
All you mean to me,
For it only shows your skin,
And if you think otherwise,
Then it’s time you looked within.

To This (2022)
—
How did we change,
From throwing paper planes,
And driving toy trains,
To this.

And when did we grow,
From kids in the snow,
And the things we didn’t yet know,
To this.

And yet I can’t put my finger on the day,
When we never again did play,
And our childhood begun to waste away,
To this.

And then as we got taller,
Slowly our dreams got smaller,
Until the only thing left in life,
Is this.

Despair (2020)
—
I watch him crumble into a state of despair,
For I know that he cannot be repaired.
His tears stream downwards,
Down, down, downwards—
Like the way the river flows,
Like flakes of snow blow,
Like how people don’t talk about it much;
Of snow and ice that glitters nice.
He suffers in silence,
With no one to hold,
With not a trace of comfort he beholds.
He asks for something to hold,
But as always, chances have grown old.
Like the icy crunchy snow,
Of that people do not know,
A blow to the heart,
a scenario where sympathy tends to dart.
His hands visibly shaking but behind closed doors,
The mask, façade, it drops away.
Though nobody has a thought of care to see him shuddering,
His fingers, now stuttering.
Fingers dart forward,
Though it’s not that simple.
A tissue cannot wipe away all his issues.
He looks outside the window wondering,
What can I do?
The sky’s mood seems very low,
He can see the snow has fell all night,
And left behind for him a sheet of white.


Haiku And Short Poetry Collection
—

Lost Ocean Voyage (2021)
—
Lost ocean voyage,
Mighty waves break over the bow,
Seas churning fiercely.

Blossoming Flames (2022)
—
Wildfire blooms,
Burning wherever it please,
Blossoming flames.

In The Piercing Wind— (2021)
—
Leaves swept away,
In the strong and mighty wind,
Awaiting return.

Awaiting A Meal (2020)
—
An old silent pond,
From leaf to leaf hops a frog,
Looking for a meal.

A Dead Mind (2022)
—
Rage attempts to burn,
In my sub-conscious, dead mind,
Ready for revenge.

Dragons (2021)
—
Dragons.
Roars stir the land.
Flames throw light on their leather cloaks.
Their days of glory have swept by.
Forsaken.

Chaos (2022)
—
Some people survive in chaos,
And that is how they grow.
Some people thrive in chaos,
Because chaos is all they know.
Some people dance with chaos,
Because that is how they forego.
But I could never live with chaos,
For peace is all I know,
And with chaos I’d never again glow.

Ballad And Epic Poetry Collection
—

The Woodland’s Fate (2021)
—
Have you heard the faerie’s song,
Upon a summer’s night,
In a land across the sea,
Visible by candlelight?

Where the centaur’s skipped, pixies pranked,
Beasts blocked the sky,
Griffins spread their feathery cloaks,
And dragons uttered fiery cries.

Mermaids dove and flipped,
Souls swarmed the sky,
Serpents swam from within their sea,
Followed by a crystal-clear sky.

Have you heard of the land across the sea,
Where the moon hung like a ball on high,
And watched the gnomes and pixies fly,
Above the fairy glen?

It’s a splendid sight to see them run,
And watch as it all grows light,
They dance and dance around all dawn,
Though once they leave; once the clock strikes three,
They leave behind for us a ring of toadstools wee,
On display for all eyes to see.

But where fae and elves once roamed,
Shadows flash and peals of thunder resonate,
From the fuming rolls of pearly-white clouds.
We do our best to hide this wilted wood,
And so there it stands, shrouded by: a keening wraith of gloom,
Sustained by only,
Our saviours.

Begone, the days, and take hatful form,
And the sky is cloaked by raging storms,
When all is knocked down to its knees,
No more will the swans and swallows sing,
No more will the streamlets flounder,
The ground is made vice firmer,
And the soil pleads for spring.

In meadows and banks that once proved glorious,
Creep misery and fear,
Spectators wander,
Not here.
And not all can be saved not all can be saved they would sing,
Though the woodland shalt not give in.

Though what sat poised upon a mountain’s ledge,
Feathers lifting in the air,
The world felt numb,
At what it had become.
Upon a weathered cliff,
Alert and stiff.
The sun once hung high here,
A shining bead of golden dew,
Melting on the mountains blue.

Upon a midnight dreary,
Where you ventured weak and weary,
Where hallows haunt the trees,
Petals pine and plea,
Wolves whimper and wander,
For the curses have yet to somber.

Though what many is now considered a quaint,
A lot of quaint and curious forgotten ruins and lore,
For there is still a legend and a tale to be told,
As you realize,
As you sit there mapping,
And suddenly comes a tapping.

Rapping, tapping,
Rapping on the forest floor,
As you sit there, measuring,
Mapping the forgotten lore,
Only this, and nothing more.

So roaring stirs this wooded land,
The birds of evening have yet to amass,
Red flames throw light on every strand,
Of fragile, drifting, dew-stained grass.

The days of glory have swept by,
Yet not all hope was taken,
For dwellers still bear the tale,
Having yet to be forsaken.

The full moon casts,
Upon strings of beads that lie shattered, strewn,
The trees recall their noble pasts,
And call upon the land to fight.

With the light of life burned down to coals,
And sagging oaks and drooping elms,
Again does the land decline,
No matter how much the wood may beg and pine.

Mirth is not yet ample,
And the land lacks sunlight’s kiss,
So far the past has swum,
Though the days may not always wane and dwindle,
But always must the land be kindled

Author's Note
I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY– I couldn't find a lot of my favourite poems or the pieces I've done this year so far, though please bear with me. Some of these pieces are kind of personal, so please don't go into depth with questions. Not much to say here but I update this every now and then so maybe check in sometime in a few weeks if you're interested .