Tag Archives: spoken word

Limited Nights

I keep having dreams about the people I used to meet.
Of the people I loved and the hopes we dreamed.
Never falling in love easily has been a trait of mine,
but last year was a time when it seemed that
everyone I met impaled my mind and twisted a form
upon my fate.

I think I only dream when I’m in love,
and these past few nights, the dreams
have come and stayed, imprinting their
impressions of something once great.

But how those days ended so swift,
and the longing of home to end quick.

First Burn

‘I messed up with you,’ you said
Well damn right you did, well damn
sure you did.

Wasting years of this life
trying to cognisise a
memory of all, a clue to happier days
but wait –

there are none.

Forget it.

Apologise no more because forgiveness
will not be redeemed by these shores. Forget it
because this is something I bore alone.

‘I messed up with you.’
Well fuck you, too.
A product beyond use, battered
and abused by ill care inflicted
by previous tools.

Just get scatter shift
and let me be, a name blushed red
by faults committed not by my deeds.

Just leave me now and I’ll flee.
No longer a burden, this constant reminder
of mistake-stained days.

From Ink Grew Iron Song

I think back to this time last year,
rewind time to a time where postal codes
were closer together than farther apart,
able to press heart against heart.

So this is how far we’ve come.
Better, for worse, one cannot tell,
but while the seconds tick upwards
and the winds whistle summer into air,
the love of my heart for yours has remained the same –

or something similar,
because I like you more now
then I did back then.

When did evolving time
become such a reward?
To witness you grow, to become more sure

of what you wish to conquer from this world,
to pose resolutions of problems that refuse to
become old.

I don’t love you as I loved you back then.
That much is safe in my safe which only I hold key.

From ink grew iron strong to take over their place,
causing me to spend minutes stealing pictures of your face.

I don’t love you as I loved you back then.
I love you more, in so many different ways.

Effects of a Late Night and an Early Morning

Do you ever have those days
where you just wished for everything to be the same?

To go back to the time before time changed
and back to those days that flew away in a daze?

Oh dear, I miss you.
I miss you more than words can describe,
more than the world can pronounce through
wailing gales and angry, falling mountain sides.

Writing to you is the absolute,
favourite part of my day.

And the sorrow when you don’t reply,
that is a feeling I wish I knew not how to say.

Good night, my love.
Have a brilliant day.
Sleep well my sir,
sleep so that the demons drift away

when I cling to this pillow tight,
only know that I wish it were you that could be
so wonderfully close.

But until then
until that day
until we can hold us both,
my mind will continue to
ramble out, meandering
unfinished thoughts of

With you, my heart

With you, my heart
treat with kindness.
With you it lives,
my one and only.

And if ever you decide
to sever its bond –
set it down softly
into a box and send
it away, away back to its start.

And if ever you wish
to give it away, do
know that it will never,
once more, return to the same.

Send it back with
most pristine care, in mind.
‘Gently used, second-hand
well beyond compare.’

But I’d rather
you keep it,
fix it well with your life.
To help soften the lows,
blights, and all life’s constant strife.

No upgrades required,
self-evolving a plus –
this design was made
for you – each and every part.

But if it’s still
too much to carry along,
drop it off kindly,
‘once loved, once strong’,
to a place it now doesn’t belong.