Prisoners of the Sky

Butwhosaid the following? I thought I would sit down and write and so I guess this time there is no common saying or a quote but a poem, which I suppose this time – I said !

I never thought the sky could be
inflicting – so cruel.
To keep me trapped underneath her claws
So many miles from you.

She hides her dark eyes
With glitters from the stars
But I have seen her soul tonight
And from far away it shows.

The wind her prey – is howling
For the sky too has captured him
It’s bound us both from what we want
And travellers have no remit.

Caged upon a muddy sheath
I owe the sky debts
My tears but have nourished the soil
On which she dances to no regret.

I cannot pay the wages the sky demands me to
And so she will not lead me to, the brightness that is you
But my love, the wind and I, we whisper in the rain
And plot so that the sky, up above shall feel our pain.

She goes on and on forever and to no end does she forgive
She hides the sunlight from us – and in darkness I must live.
The journey to your arms, though shadowed by her plight
Is not a victim to , a defeated endless fight.

And so I continue, with bruised and battered feet
Walking in the darkness to where we ought to meet.
But then the sky – in her wickedness- she laughed at me with lies
She told me that you’d given up – that you’d severed all our ties.

I told her I did not believe her – but she laughed so much it rained.
And my heart could not take it – for it was beaten and it was drained.
I thought that you would wait for me – that you would understand
That it was worth anything – to lie once more in hand.

A Hollowness inside me – dug away with no pain,
To know that you had given up – my sorrow I could not feign
The wind it tried to help me – he held me in embrace
But I had long been lost to you, that was always the case.

The stars I see now, are not dazzling rays of hope
They are but like the wind and I – victims of elope.
Naïve with lust and wonder, we all set off for love
But the sky all along knew what awaited from above.

And she tried her most to teach us how to be brave
By making us hate her – for keeping us from what we craved
And all the hatred I had once for her- has dissolved away in time
And the love that burned so violently for you – I have written into rhyme.

This Is A Shot In The Dark

I don’t know how long I’ve been writing poetry for – I’m not very open about it and I don’t really know why. But I thought I’d take a “shot in the dark” and share a recent poem with you. I wanted to write a poem which reflected aspects of my faith and so I wrote this poem as a reminder to myself to not forget who I am, my principles and my dreams- that is to have faith in myself, to have faith in my sprit. I’m still working on a title, but for now I’ve just called it:


There is a story that only I can tell,
For I am the author – so listen well.
It is almost time for me to depart,
So my son let me tell you my tale right from the start.

When I was young I did not really know,
Who I was, but hoped that it would show.
I tried to be what was expected of me,
I moulded myself to what I thought I ought to be.

I am my own master , yet I was ruled.
But my child freedom beats through me – do not be fooled !
There was a wind which each day howled to me
that I was the champion of my own destiny.

The years rolled on but still I had hope,
that one day my wildest desires and I would elope.
Others laughed and told me such was life,
to not be a dreamer and continue this strife.

My leathered body now aged as you see –
a victim to time , she has been a temptress to me.
It takes many a year to be accustomed to change
and so the silence of old age revealed to be strange.

But it is here that my journey begins,
where my soul and I do become friends.
In the quiet I realised –
that this friend has always been by my side.

And who is this, my son I hear you say,
this companion I speak of whom I met in old age ?
Alas he was with me all along,
He was the pulsing beat to the melody of my song.

He was the magic that blinded me when I was young,
He was the poet who’s dreams to me were sung.
He was the niggling that ached in middle age.
And now my son, he is my spirit – free from its cage.