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Haiku – Another Man’s Chaos
One man’s neat structure Is another man’s chaos This goes vice versa
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Through the Lens of Melancholy
The demons gaze at me like they’ve drunken malice tea. A beverage filled with pure hate, only my spilt blood will fully satiate. Their thirst, and their hunger, because they feed on my worst. My thoughts and my feelings, all my troubled dealings. The times that I reached up and hit into glass ceilings…
blind, colour, commanding, control, defective, dissociating, expression, feelings, flame, fog, god, grey, hardship, heart, hell, life, love, malice, melancholic, melancholy, mental-health, metaphorical, mind, pain, poem, poems, poetry, pretending, reality, soul, spiritual, trauma, troubled, universe, vision, writing -
Resting Six Feet Beneath the Seabed
It burns so bright, my heart feels tight. My soul of pure white turns into a grey, ashen blight. My deeds carried out thus far have been nulled and void. Now I’m a fallen star – by my faith, I had been toyed. No longer will I, my destiny, avoid. With the power of a Tsar; Bomba has been deployed…
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My World’s On Fire and I Like It
How long will it take for me to perish – because I do know, in death I’ll relish. I want it to end some day soon. I pray for God to send me to the moon. A grave so deep, on the moon’s dark side. The place I’ll sleep whilst I control the tide of the scarlet ocean, the only liquid remaining after all the commotion and all that blood raining. Down down down lace me into my tomb, deep down in the ground where I won’t be found…
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The Love Bus-t
Bruv, if you’ve witnessed love Of the highest degree You’ll know that sometimes Like on a note attached to a dove It comes to you for free It just fits like a glove It’s not “one size fits all” It’s “one size fits us” So let’s go on a journey Let’s hop on this here bus Hey there love bus driver I would like to exchange These two single fivers I expect to get some strange For a couple of tickets A pair of returns That’ll keep our night going Until my shaft burns…
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Schörde
My chords become swordsTiny little bladesFloating around in the airThey’re made out of pure soundDirected towards my enemiesWhich come at me in hordesI point and I prayI get on my kneesI plead with the lordNot to be seizedThe lord is not pleasedBut he grants my requestSo off with my headAnd now I can restFor I am quite deadPut to sweet slumberOn a blood soaked flower bed
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To Oblivion
I’m a living, moving resourceLike an ever running racehorseI eat, I sleep, and I breatheIn the morningI brush my teeth and then I leaveRush out the doorPrepping for warThat an average day bringsSo I yawn my morning roar When I’m out of my abodeI communicate in codeNot too unlike morseBut once I get startedThe only way I’ll stopIs to be tranquilisedLike a horse My brain is fastBut my fingers are fasterWatch out nowSoon I’ll need a plasterMy fingers are chafedThey should be wrapped in a castSo they can be built to lastAnd embedded with healing powerBorrowed from the pastWith every…
McDream's Poetry
I write stuff. Mostly comedy. Probably unfunny, if it's not your cup of tea drink coffee.
McDream's Poetry 