The Rope

Trying to be more upbeat
But just so full of grief
Wanting to be hopeful
My joy stolen by the thief

Started off my journal now
Complete with gratitude
Trying to turn a corner
While battling low mood

Firing all my engines
In the hope of rising up
Searching positivity
In a half-empty cup

Try smiling in the mirror
No one grinning back
Seeing all the wretchedness
While watching life unpack

Searching out life’s colours
Standing in the sun
It’s dark before its time
Again the night has come

It’s hard to keep on going
A battle just to cope
Is there really any point
Holding on to the rope?

Photo by Carson Greenhalgh on Unsplash




Rage

Image source – http://www.peakpx.com

I thought very seriously about sharing this poem. I originally wrote it several years ago, but I’ve updated it since then. It’s about the internal anger, which I feel now that it’s no longer possible to be angry with the appropriate person. Not knowing how to deal with my rage, despite my therapist’s suggestions of punching cushions, screaming into pillows, yelling to loud music etc., the only outlet I have for my feelings is my writing. I hope you will understand my reason for sharing this somewhat uncomfortable and sombre poem, and please know that I don’t wish to offend anyone who may read this.


How do I shield my mind, my darling

from the wrath, I have towards myself

or the tongue, as sharp as a blade

that spits bitter words with every breath?

~~~

My soul shrouded by secrets untold,

whipped by the wind in a hot desert storm

beaten against fresh, fair skin;

sour, narrow eyes, blinking.

~~~

My spirit dances with hollow sighs

and its shadow falls and tumbles

into the darkest of clouds;

tears flow freely into the midnight sky.

~~~

But now, my scarlet demons

run screeching from the hills

and the steep mountains rage;

 and then forever hushed.

AFTERTHOUGHT …

The Shadow

I see a shadow in the mirror that I barely recognise

But a stranger in my room? No, I think not

But then, could I be mistaken? I’m not sure if I’d know

So, I carefully take aim and fire a shot

~~~

There’s a scream to be heard but is it him or is it me?

Is he wounded, lying bleeding on the floor?

Does my heart possess a scar or open wound to see?

Or has he crept very quietly out the door?

~~~

But, it’s late now; nearly black and the night is pulling in

Can you see him? Is he hiding out the back?

I am cautious, naturally; almost scared to take a look

Is he sane; a simple fool; a maniac?

~~~

There’s a monster in my mirror, and he’s staring back at me

Leave politely, shut the door and go away!

He won’t listen to my pleading, and he doesn’t hear me cry

Now it’s dark, and he’s bedded down to stay.

(Image source unknown)