One Day When I'm Gone

One day when I'm gone,
When all my dreams go wrong,
I'll find my life was spent,
Chasing after my friends.

One day when I'm gone,
I won't be forgotten for too long,
I'll find in my reflection,
They gave me up with no objection.

One day when I'm free,
There will be no search parties for me,
No single torch or flare,
No loving embrace to show they care.

One day when I'm free,
No more ambiguity,
No more yes and no, go with the flow,
And just put on a real big show.

One day when I leave,
My heart and mind will be at ease,
No more distraction from His peace,
And no more friendly enemies.

I'm convinced I will fair well,
Once I've said my farewell,
But until that day has come,
Father,
Keep my eyes fixed on your Son.

Wage this Love

This is one of the few openly Christian poems I've written. I hope you all (and by all I mean the one or two random people a year who stumble on this blog) enjoy it.

I don’t know if I’ve ever been so afraid,
When love and fear stand face to face,
Bitter enemies at war in me,
Tearing me open right at my seams.

I don’t know if I’ve ever felt so brave,
When love and fear stand face to face,
I’m a fire raging against my chains,
Swearing I will never be the same.

I don’t know if I’ve ever felt so alone,
When love and fear come to blows,
I’m a fist striking against my own dreams,
Desperate for God to bring His peace.

I don’t know if I’ve ever felt so alive,
When love and fear stare into each others eyes,
I may not have stirred up this fight,
But I wont leave here without a resolution tonight.

I’ll wage this love against this fear,
And come out on top for God is near,
I’ll break control and it’s desperate lies,
Embraced by freedom, I’ll cling to this life,
There’s no more strength within this soul,
There's no more strength within these bones,
But only hope is all I have left,
And only hope in My Father and My Father alone.

Grave in my heart

There's a pit in my stomach,
Give me nothing less,
There is a grave in my heart,
A deep whole in my chest.

Lonely,
I am sad if only,
They would just disown me,
The pretense is droning.

Coldness,
I am unsettled and unearthed,
Consistently under estimating,
My own value and my own worth.

Desperate,
But I wont say a word,
I've been dying inside,
But you havn't heard.

Drowning,
But I cant look up,
Your hand on my back,
And my strength is not enough.

Terrified,
What if I'm alone?
And the simple truth:
I cant make it on my own.

Conflicted,
What kind of choice is this?
What if I'd rather not choose?
What if I give it a miss?

There is a pit in my stomach,
Give me nothing more,
There is a grave in my heart,
A deep hurting sore.

I'll be your friend most of all.

I wrote this for one of my best friends. It's the first time I've ever written a poem about a friend that was positive. In the past all my poems for friends came from a very negative place, usually after being hurt by them.

I’ll be love, I will defend,
I’ll be a shield, I’ll be your friend,

I’ll be a soldier, right at your side,
I’ll be an army, in which to hide.

I’ll be a hand, to take yours,
I’ll be an arm, to pull you from the floor.

I’ll be words, to help you stand and walk,
I’ll be ears, when you need to talk.

I’ll be a shoulder, when you need to cry,
A strong embrace, on which you can rely.

I’ll be on your side, even when I’m right,
I’ll love you still, if we ever fight.

I’ll be used, to help you through,
I don’t mind, if it’s by you.

I’ll be all of this and more,
But I’ll be your friend,
most of all.

Quiet Mornings.

It's been a while since I've posted anything up here. So no one reads this thing anymore, they just stumble on it now and then I think. So I hope this will be useful to someone.



Quiet Mornings

Quiet mornings have always seemed so intimidating,
Quiet mornings I have never been anticipating,
My heart is not my own for the taking,
But my feet hold firm, my nerves aren’t shaking.

This quiet morning birds sing beneath my peace,
This quiet morning has its a cold breeze,
My heart I now have put at ease,
But my mind is clear, to seek release

Quiet mornings never seemed so loud,
Quiet mornings when some thoughts are not allowed,
My heart desires to roar and resound,
But my resolve still stands to keep it firmly ground.

This quiet morning is the chance of a brand new day,
This quiet morning my fears have washed away,
To run and dare and dream for more,
To dust off my knees, to get off the floor,
To risk is love, to not is stress,
I’d rather disappear than try for less,
If I set my sights and try and fail,
At least I’ve lived, my love is not frail,
I can’t change the world, I can’t even change one mind,
But perhaps today I realised,
Sometimes chance just takes time.

These are Good Days for Hunting

So today is the first time in a while that this blog is being updated. I've had an idea in my head for a poem for the last few days so I'm gonna try write it now, I hope it turns out alright.

There has been a buzz in the air lately,
A word on the street, people have been getting excited.
I've heard the talk, and it seems to be getting louder,
It's doesn't seem to be a secret, the news seems to be out there.

It seems as though I've been hearing it for quite some time,
Now it seems everyones waiting,
They'll be talking and someone will say:
These are Good Days for Hunting.

It seems as much as everyone knows the phrase,
The facts still seem to be a mystery,
I've heard of stories like this before,
The ones that seem passed down from legend.

Everyone wants to know,
We're seeing it on the tv, Hearing it on the radio,
Even the newspaper healines read:
These are Good Days for Hunting.

Fathers spending time with their sons will tell them,
Sons will listen in wonder, enthralled by the tale,
Some don't want to hear and shun the very thought,
Others can't hear enough, they speculate and weave the tale.

As the story grows the whispers get louder,
People don't seem to be able to sit still these days,
Some have taken to running through the streets exclaiming:
THESE are Good Days for Hunting!

Years from now will we wonder about these days,
Or will they never end,
Is there some success to be gained here,
Some tale for the grand kids, one for the history books.

We all seem to be waiting for this moment,
Never considering that it might never come,
We clench our destiny in our fists, and we yell at the sky:
THESE ARE GOOD DAYS FOR HUNTING!

And this is chaos inside of me,
I'm sure I started this all,
They could see it in my eyes,
People could feel it.
I'm sure thats how it all began.

I've started something that was started long before me,
I just woke up one morning and confidently knew,
And because I knew, I just had to say it,
I had to make it real, I held my fist to my chest and said:
these are good days for hunting...

Long time coming

Here's a tangent. It's some digital artwork I did for another blog. Click to make it bigger and prettier.

Traverse

This is one of my favourite poems. For no particular reason. It also nearly got published twice. The first time I procrastinated with the authors release form until it was too late. The second time I decided I didn't want to get it published in the particular publication that was interested, so I didn't send in the authors release on purpose. (Edit: Well balls to that apparently they decided they would publish it anyway. I'm very disappointed. I really didn't want to be associated with that particular publication.)

Has anyone heard of Mat Kearney, if not check out his song "Girl America", I don't know what genre to call him, acoustic rap? Tyron and Ross will definitely say pop.

Traverse

I have been done and dusted,
Cold in my heart where I have trusted.
Throw up my hands it's hardly fair,
Call out for help shoot off a flare.
Thunder in dark skies and thunder in my heart,
Fall on gravel roads; I began with a hard start.
Clawing my way to this mountain top,
Hardened hands from struggling, hardened heart when I stop.
Crying at a difference in equality,
Dieing in deep pool of iniquity.
Falling down, discarding crowns, but you never let me drown.
Through the depths I wade, through the depths I've made, too fast I fade,
Thank God, you save.
Bound in misery, I forget about destiny, I create a new history.
Fists on distant shores, fists in church halls, fists make new bruises on old sores.
Love expiring, love in the line they're firing, love they're no longer buying.
Built up on selfishness, fed on desire,
They build their little towers, they try to get higher.
I am no longer in that contest, no longer in conquest,
No longer in pursuit, searching out for a silver lining, a lifestyle of whining and dining.
No longer do I crave what is not yet dust, what has not yet fallen away,
I don’t want what will never remain, I want it your way, I live for your day.
On a bended heart on bended knees, I struggle against apathy,
It is my own personal hypocrisy, but this is the trophy snapshot I've taken,
I stand one foot on top of me, pose for the flash I’ve got victory.

A Thought for Food

Sheesh! The netty netty is slow today. Damn you rain for interfering with my signal. Sorry so late my beloved readers. Today is the second of the only two light hearted poems I ever wrote. Again all blame lies at the feet of Douglas Adams. Stay tuned though thursday I will post up one of my favourite poems.

A Thought for Food

My food looked up at me from my plate,
It SCREAMED for mercy,
Trying to avoid its fate.
But I couldn't hear it scream:
"Dont eat me please!",
Because I couldn't understand foodenese.

Next time you have supper, breakfast or lunch,
Consider the pain of your food as you munch.

Do they want to be eaten?
Do they want to freeze?
Do they want to be put in an oven?
To bake at 200 degrees.

Why should we not let them grow old,
mouldy, green and white,
You would not like to be eaten alive,
Stopped, from living out the whole of your life.

So next time you have a meal,
Be it fruit, veggies or meat,
How about a moments silence or prayer,
To be thankful and honour the food that you eat.

Forecast of Pain

Hello mense. Sorry to my masses and masses of readers for the late update. This is from my much darker days, when I struggled with depression. It's kinda raw, and it's one of my earlier poems so its kinda unpolished. But at least it's honest. Man depression sucks to your asma.

Forecast of Pain

Thunder
So very loud
Then it begins to rain,
And another gloomy day
Washes in
With all its pain,
My mood
It sinks ever lower
And I begin to think my life
Is nearly over.

And it wasn't you
Who said I couldn't make it,
But it was you
Who tried to fake it.
And this friendship turned thorny weed
Grows even stronger
When I bleed,
Especially on those rainy days
When all my hopes and dreams
Wash away.

And just when things couldn't get more bleak
They forecast rain
Everyday of the week.