Posted tagged ‘Tired’

Deep Thoughts, Too Late

May 24, 2010

The dirt must have been dry at some point,

Or they wouldn’t have been able to dig the grave,

Wouldn’t it have slid right back in?

Rolled like a toppling bus on a sloped hillside,

Delivering it’s passengers to their final destination

With or without pressing their Oyster card against the electronic reader,

Thoughts thunder, reverberating against the lined wood surroundings.

I went with a fight and still I fight now,

I want to wake up.

I only wanted to sleep for one night,

But time passed and arrived at my bedside,

My rage unbridled now my soul is on its way away,

I am alive only with anger, livid with my hands, with all of me,

But above all my gormless heart that refuses silence and peace.

A man sat in pain until he could no longer resist the urge to change his situation. He wanted rest, needed rest, craved rest.

He took a sleeping pill, it didnt work.

He took a sleeping pill, it didnt work.

He took a sleeping pill, it didnt work.

He took a sleeping pill, it didnt work.

Soon the pill bottle lay empty, but for the cotton wool.

Sleep came, the pain eased, then came the realisation that death had been invited and had arrived.

© Simon Bucknor

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Staring Out To Sea

February 25, 2010

I exist on an island,

Standing on the shore staring out to sea.

My gaze yearns to excite,

With the sight of an exit in which my heart’s hopes can believe.

Who can I run to?

Where can I turn?

Who can withstand the heat?

Feels like my attempts cause all bridges to spontaneously burn.

Where can I go,

To get what I need?

How can I fool my tongue,

So it’s unparalleled power it believes?

Where can I be heard?

Where can I be helped?

Who can I really run to?

‘Cos my story I’m desperate to tell.

Whose ears work the best?

Who’s linked their ears to a caring heart?

Where can I go to mend myself?

Can I battle the feeling that it’s too late to start?

I’ve tried so many times,

I reach out but see only my own hand

Who’s going to be there to meet me?

When I step off my insular island

I cannot continue to try and fail,

To speak into ears that don’t show they hear,

To reach out and find that still no one’s there,

Increasingly feeling that no one truly cares.

But I will remain set on my question mark and be led by my eyes,

Their movement I feel within me and without, they’re still searching,

My heart and head redundant, tired, spent

Somewhere there must be a place where my hurt can find the beginning of its end.

When I find that person, when I find that place,

When I find that moment, that feeling, that no pain can chase away,

This Island that I stand on the shore of will be an immediate fading memory,

And I will raise my sails, ride the waves and enjoy the prevailing winds of change.

© Simon Bucknor

Waiting For The Morning

January 25, 2010

In the night-time I grow tired

Weary from the war of perceptions and impressions

Where I fight with all I am

And all I am not

As the stars shine bright

In an attempt to expose my many flaws

I see no resting place

Nowhere to duck my head

No burrow to crawl into

To gather my composure

Ready to fight on

There seems to be no hope

But morning will come

Whether I am here or not

And the sun will heat the earth

And this night-time

Will be purely a scar in my memory

© Simon Bucknor