To escape to the land of fairy tales and princes, Would be marvellous at best, Escapism at worst, But beautiful that none the less. For living in castles, Comes rent free, Spare the dragons and dungeons, And curse bound witches. For jobs are for peasants, And royalty we'd be, With bountiful Riches, And careless minds. Yes reality is no Castle, And princes are but men. Fairy tales are stories, And Riches are sparse.
You'll never understand his humour. The way he said hello, without even using a greeting. His intelligence will never fit with yours The same way his fingers sit perfectly with mine. You'll never believe the transparency of his emotions, But that's because you'll never trust the way he does, Or care about his opinions the way he does mine, When he's imagining the house you'll one day share. You'll find his sarcasm rude or offensive, But that's because he doesn't tell you he loves you all the time. You'll never hear the static on the line because he won't hang up, He never wants to say goodbye, so we talk for even longer. You'll get a smirk, but never see his smile, Or the way those baby blue eyes glisten at you, But that's because you'll never be stood, Embracing under the falling water together. You won't hear him try and speak French, Because, even if he can't say the words correctly, He knows it will make me smile. And if that fails, Alan Rickman will save the day. You'll never get to steal his hoodies, Because he shares his warmth and his life with me. He knows being in his arms feels safe, But also how often the firm hand is craved. You'll never share that stolen dance before leaving, And he'll never forgo his comfort for you, But we'll sleep in the most uncomfortable bed, Just to hold me close, even if it's selfish of me. You won't find kisses softer than his, Nor end a night with such intense love. He'll never open bottles for you in the morning, Because he's making sure I'm not thirsty this morning. You won't see the value in a walking IMDB, But you don't even know who Lars Von Trier is! And you'll never get to joke that he's part yeti, Because I'm the one using his chest as a pillow. You'll never get a tour from an awful guide, And still have a fantastic day together, Because he will share my headphones and music, And enjoy not having to say anything at all. You won't be encouraged to chase your dreams, Because he's too busy making time for me, Too busy understanding my views and interests, And keeping his mind open to a new viewpoint. You'll never know why he's so great to cuddle, Or why he is willing to tell you everything, Because he's listening to me sing to random songs, Even if I'm not putting any effort in. You'll never understand that he's just him, Because you'd take him for granted, and he never would. He's too busy putting all his efforts into Writing the perfect poem to steal my heart again. You'll never have someone know what you like Or someone who's willing to wait quite so long, Because he knows that you should be serious Especially when in love. You will never get, know or have this from him, Because you don't love him, nor he you. I have had, know and get this from him, Because I love him, and he loves me too.
Sat in a world, Filled with noise and conversation, My brain screams for silence. A reprieve from the nonsense, From the clutter and disarray. To be sat in contemplation, Reflection of current states, Past events and future deeds. I yearn for time and peace, To sit and ponder, To think about what my life really means, What my actions will incur, Where my choices will lead. Is it dumb luck? Or I am exercising control? Is it nature or nurture? Fact or fiction? What is the meaning of everything? Sat in a room filled with chatter, People making idle small talk, I pray for silence. For people to keep and hold, In all of the pointless natter, To really think about the words, The meanings and the purpose, For speech is a gift misused, And silence is a word often abused. There is no need for silence to be filled, For it to be disgraced, By the social nervousness, And the discomfort, That shrouds its being. Sometimes, to sit together, With no words, Is all we need. Sat in a stadium full of fans, Their shouting and blaring, Then we are asked for silence. To bow our heads and pay respects, For many have fallen, And congregation is the only time, The only place, For us to all fall silent, Even though that time is limited. Should silence truly be for the fallen? And owed to the dead? If so, then why are we all so loud! Why are we all so concerned? So confused at those in silence? Sat in a theatre, Where noise is precise, And I hang on the silence. Perfect moments, movements and words, All extenuated, pronounced, explained, By those simple moments. Those eloquent pauses, Where no sound is present. It is like some kind of god, Has done the spring cleaning, Removed all the unnecessary babble, And allowed us to notice the value, Of that which is left unsaid. And the audience, From kindness and respect, Sit there, eyes fixated, Focused and bewitched, All in silence. Sat up in bed, The streets but barren and calm, I hate the silence. I long for a melody to take my ear, And softly sing me to sleep. A gentle noise, Twisted in the words of a lullaby. For I hate this silence, For silence is empty. Silence is nothing. Silence has no meaning, Yet it purposefully bothers me, Meaningfully taunts me, Beckons me and turns me away. It may have no meaning, But it is far from purposeless.
The states are incomparable, The calculated intellectual, Genius beyond all marks, And the heartfelt emotive, Embodiment of an empath. Is this duality of self, Truly inseparable in life? Or are they humanities mark Of man's bipolarity? Does the intellectual function Upon emotional grounds? Or does the empath employ Compassion upon reasoned basis? Is true harmony expressed Betwix the numerous lobes and Cortexes? Or does one central focus Outweigh the neurological development? Is cognitive ability a separate, Harmonious, isolated duality?
He stands in the rain, Palms up to the sky, and he SCREAMS. Water rolls down his skin, tracing new paths on old, As the sky cries his tears. His chesty breath, hitches, says not but one word, why?.. must the clouds collapse? Does the sky know? Is this pain mutual? He just stands there. All of lives work, Summed up in one thing... This man in the rain. He begins to laugh, perhaps it's insanity? Or is he sanity in action? I don't know for sure, but there's one thing I do... He just stands. In the rain.
A soft willow tree, Sits on her arm. 25 lines in total. Right now shown in deep autumn red, But they'll be white by winter.
My dearest Armistead, Why are you wearing this façade? You know without me, You crumble. We together, as should always be, Place purple ink lines and curves On ice white paper, To form resolution from heartache, Reason, from mental confusion. Give up the game! You need to release those feelings. Don't bottle up, or ignore me. The delightful duo, us together, Make words flow from letters. I'm disappointed. You haven't visited me lately, Have you forgotten me? How when life throws a curve ball, We've always written it out, Iterated logic from feelings. Please, write back, It's our survival. Your sanity, expression, explanation. I worry for you. All my deepest concerns, Armistead
Company used to hold such value. People were so inexplicably important. Yet I'm in my little haven. Snippets of conversations, here and there, With select individuals, a chosen few. My blissful isolation, my sweet little home. I can truly relax and be the real me
Come on in. Tea? Coffee? Ah, coffee, good choice. I'll just top up the cafetiere. Your pictures, Serve you but little justice, You're attraction, Is in the eyes, Not the red reflection. Your mannerisms, Most enticing, And the level of ease, The flow of conversation, Magnificent. Over a coffee, I learned you, Realized your significance, The role you play, In my small life. The options you open, The knowledge you offer. Over a simple coffee, We laughed, Smiled together. Enjoyed the bliss, Of casual conversation
I stand tall at 5 foot 5 inches short. Weighed down by the grief, The struggling torment of loss. The guilt of having helped, Aided so inadequately. I stand tall at 5 foot 0 inches short. Stunted by the childless womb That I coldly and selfishly bare. The sin of youthful carelessness Stripping my claim of having mothered. I stand at 4 foot 7 inches short, only. Shrunk by the burning depression That I can't seem to kick. My only employment today Is self-hatred and tears. I rest at 4 foot 2 inches short, roughly. Dragged down by hatred, The ostracization of my true self. Unaccounted for in my mistakes, Not responsible for my choices. I stand, cowering at 1 foot. Not so tall now. Life, I screwed up, Beat myself down.
The Poet Armistead 