Choices for me are never slim,
Poetry courses from an overflowing brim,
Daily, hourly, sadly it’s all of the time,
Escaping me, running away into rhyme,
You might struggle with one a year,
For me the lines are always clear
I am never short of ideas to create,
Writing down thoughts, memories and mistakes,
Just words that come together and match,
For me no trickery, art or science, no catch,
In fact, it’s all too easy to write in line,
Yet others may have problems with rhymes,
Of times afore that scream for release!
Stark and hidden terrors, my disease!
Guilt’s, sins, bleak mental crimes,
Constantly haunt me, tingling my spine,
Sharing onto paper my past life,
Hoping to ease off, anguish and strife,
Wild darkness, passes through my mind,
Every day, every night, all the time,
Like musical incantations of horrific scores,
Drifting from outer perimeters to my core,
Never allowing me my desired peace,
Or tranquillity, or silence, never ceases,
Why do l write at times of such dread?
Because bleak etchings appear within my head!
Try coping with an overcrowded brain,
Constantly at war, in continuous pain!
Living with the life l have led to date,
Mentally conflicting with love and hate,
Frightening thoughts dwelling deep inside,
That must be penned down and opened wide,
Explored once they lay finally exposed,
Only way to seek release and be disposed,
Memories can be both light and black,
Defence sometimes the only method of attack!
Wearing my emotions upon my sleeve,
Praying that this will allow me my reprieve,

Expressing my thoughts in this way,
Perhaps will ease the suffering of decay,
Fooled be not be you, that this is a pleasure,
Having way too many for one mans’ leisure,
Nay, just because l am able to and can,
Does not mean , enjoyment was as first began,
For l am under a hard punishing regime,
Purging is my only way of being clean,
Having seen more than most will ever wish to,
Trust in me, when l say some is not for you!
You may not be able to understand all,
Not my problem, for this is my fall,
Where upon crumbling’s collapse into dust,
Driven on by deep cravings of justice,
Memories of the utmost tender reality,
Buried within the realms of my honesty!

© Rory Matier 2010

13 thoughts on “Honesty

Comments are closed.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: