Poetry Corner

The Rain Comes Down

The rain comes down in the very early morning, speaking of promises long broken and desires yet unrealised.

What are our deepest dreams, what turns us on, what do we hope for?  Does anyone really know, or are we just all walking around in the dark?

Can we make sense of anything, or is it all shrouded in mystery?

Happiness, sadness, anger, love; are these all impostors of our faulty thinking; just what are emotions anyway?

The rain comes down, and washes everything away, our past, our lost musings and all the forgotten dreams we once harboured; everything washes away apart from our guilt and our sense of loss.

Everything must mean something after all, but we struggle to understand even the simplest of things; is life complex, and how did life begin?  Who knows?

We argue over moot points, and we think we are right and the other person is wrong; but what if I’m wrong?  Have I been wondering in the dark?

I feel I am missing something, but I don’t know what it is.  I feel lost.

The sun comes out, and we all feel that life means something again.  It shines on the good and the bad, and even the indifferent too.  We dream of sunny days and nostalgic holidays far in the past, lost somewhere in our memories.

The rain comes down and washes everything away.

For All Those Who Are Hurting

For all those who are hurting,

For all those who are lost,

For all those who are suffering,

There is hope.

For all those weary,

For all those worn down,

For all those that life has seemingly passed by,

There is a better day.

For all those who are angry,

For all those who are disappointed,

For all those who are depressed,

There can be peace in the storm.

For all those running on empty,

For all those let down,

For all those in need,
There is a God who hears.

The Tears of a Macho Man

What happens when your life is built on quicksand?

Why don’t things turn out the way you wanted them?

Why does the world keep turning?

Has anyone seen the tears of a macho man?

Did anyone see youth lose its way?

Did anyone see the moon turn blue?

Why can’t my life be easier?

Did anyone see my tears?

What does life mean, after all?

What happened to all those lost dreams?

Why can’t I just be me?

Did anyone see the tears of a macho man?

Troubled Soul

I yearn for those lost childhood moments, those lost childhood moments I yearn for; will they ever come again?

I’m a troubled soul.  I yearned to be successful, yearned to be rich and failed on both counts.

Sweet memories keep me going; through the day and through the long dark night.

I would only, if I could, live on the coast in some remote place, some quaint town, listening to the seagulls cry to God, and writing about my life, and hoping that things were just fine.

I dream, I dream, I dream of better days, when things will all fit into place and everything begins to make sense and my life is worth something.

All my life I have been free, and yet for so long I’ve felt trapped in a cage; is it of my own making?

When will I find all the answers to all the questions I want answered?  Life is a puzzle, a great mystery, a journey and a destination, and we never stop learning; but the more we find out the less we really seem to know.

Where is God when we are troubled?  Where is God when we suffer?  Where is God when the world is hurting?

I yearn to walk in the hills, surrounded by woods, near little villages, where I could just be me, where I could be free.

The End of Empire & Lost Dreams

Once, we ruled the world; now?  Now, we have our nostalgia and memories, and not much else.  The empire was filled with dreamers and entrepreneurs, conquerors and land-grabbers, good men and bad men, visionaries and Christian missionaries, and every kind of person on the make; it was an empire of trading and money-making opportunities; much of the history of empire is really lost, or seems to be, all those moments of triumph, adversity, love, hate, success and failure; all those personal histories of millions of millions of people lost in the mists of time.

Now we sit on the edge of remote countryside on the coast, trying to make sense of it all, wondering how we came to rule the world, even if briefly.  All those things past, and long past, enter our collective consciousness, to be remembered fondly, or otherwise, and we dream of better things and of golden ages, vague reminiscences of half-forgotten dreams.

We dream of empire, when we were important and a nation to be reckoned with; now we wonder only with past memories that linger on; the world has moved on, leaving us half-forgotten and half-remembered.

Our lost empire, and our million lost dreams, are all part of our experience; now we just dream on these small islands and hope for better days.