The Wish

A wish bumped in to me today

It sought me out amongst all the air

No other soul was to be seen

So easily it could have passed by me

Instead, before my eyes it flew

Before landing gently on my waiting palm

When my hand had lifted I wasn't sure

But waiting to collect it was

Upon touch I instantly knew

This wish was meant for you

Ode to love

I was going through some of my old writing and came across this jolly little poem that I remeber writing a few years ago whilst sat in wandsworth park in the brilliant sunshine supposedly quite happy with life.

Colour me black, not yellow, or red.
Inside I'm burnt, my soul is dead.

Dismiss my smile, for it's full of deciet,
Rattling pathetically, my heart beats it's last beat.

I see before me in rows of hundreds,
Spirits deceased, the living out-numbered.

The want of lust is a given pain,
endured through a life lived in vain.

To stop wanting is torture, so i succumbed,
Now bleeding and broken, my body is numbed.

Forget that laugh, it was delivered in jest,
Covering the spears that penetrate my chest.
Molten lava pumps from my heart

...It's better to stop, before you start.

Joyfull eh?