My life, forgotten.

When I’m old, will I forget everything?

Everything I knew?

The places I’ve been,

and the people who have shaped what I have become.

What will I remember in my foggy mind?

The loneliness I felt?

Or the companionship I found?

And the end is the beginning, but bitterly so.

Will I remember the the beginning,

the middle or the end?

When I’m old will I…


Night-time Reality

Raindrops fall on my skin but I am dry.

My bare feet being dug into a path I once walked in a memory, the ground seeming to move underneath my feet.

A unseen man shouting, forgotten  people whispering, I do not hear a word.

Minutes that last hours, reality unfolded.

Never to end, it seems to me to exist forever.

I wake, and forget the dream that was my reality, as real as the world I wake to after the dark night.


The sky, a perfect white, a blank canvas waiting for the sunset to give it life.

Rain falling, creating puddles, creating reflections, some reflecting the world in a good way, others reflecting it as bad.

But some rain falls on the leaves of an old tree, craggy, withered from age.

These few droplets, are like the eyes of a child, looking all around at once,

they capture the world, seeing everything,

the good and the bad, yet still seeing the true beauty of the world in that single moment, before falling to the ground below, into the puddles, which reflect the world as a black and white place.

The sun sets, painting the sky a vibrant picture that no artist can match, the rich colours making the evening come alive, showing that the world is not black and white nor as we see it, rather it is as it is and is ever-changing.

Singly Me

Pressure all around.

Reality shrinking round me.

Everything compressed,

All existence and all feeling itself,

Enough power to crush a man,

No end, the beginning has been forgotten,

was there ever one?

As this reverses I begin to cope,

All things and all problems are spaced out,

So it is easier to understand and deal with?

Homesick of the dark.

The darkness follows me as I move forward through the night

I look out into the reflections of black,
I pass under a tunnel and see the shadows on the walls that tell all.

Ever onward, I feel the blackness change, I do not see, but I know the world is growing, changing as the train goes on.

Black has shades, indistinguishable by sight but icy clear to the feelings of my body.

My destination will soon be here,
And my black, my night, my own shadowy darkness will also be here and I will go home to sleep in it.

Writers influence.

You see Rain.

I see perfect hearts made of water spiralling downward as they fall.

You see a book,

I see infinite possibilities, one splitting into another,
A million words and creation born, moulded from the raw ingredients of the heart.

You see the world boring, repetitious,

I see all things different and inspiration is everywhere,
Every object has a song to be sung, a picture to be painted.
Art is within everything and everyone.

Life influences me. Try and take all that you can,
Because only some see more than what is experienced at first.