Monday, 22 December 2014

December 22: When I write a rhyme ...


When I write a rhyme, the words come from my mind
Sometimes they are fact, sometimes fiction
And I don’t decide, what words come from inside
It’s not about truth, it’s the diction

I write about feelings, I write about life
What you read might be mine, it might not
I don’t pick a direction, I don’t care for perception
I just write the words I have got

Sometimes I might muse, that someone could lose
Someone special, and never recover
But you should not read in, that it is my sin
Or that I’m lamenting the loss of my lover

Some rhymes contain truth, but it would be uncouth
If I was bound just to my thoughts and feelings
Then my stories would be, only tales about me
So from other sources I often go stealing

So when you read, that my heart it does bleed
Or when I think of her that my eyes rain
Don’t give it a thought, it’s not my heart that’s fraught
It’s a poem, I’m just channelling pain

If every song writer, or crooning all-nighter
Was bound by their words sung or spoken
They would be so very sad, every romance would go bad
And every song would have to leave a heart broken

Sunday, 7 December 2014

December 7: Why must I sit dispassionate?


Why must I sit dispassionate, when I so clearly feel the pain
As you read your words aloud, the tears they well again
But I cannot show emotion, I cannot down my guard
In a moment I must rise again, you've no idea how hard

It is for me to do this, I’m not made of stone or wood
I would join you in your grieving, I feel deep down I should
But dispassionate I must remain, when I get up to address
My words are strong and full of force, but inside I am a mess

It’s not your pain I'm stealing, but my feelings are for you
I put myself in this place, doing what it is I do
Every time it's different, but this one grabbed me deep
I wish you well as you go on, and for the memories that I’ll keep