Exile

The sadness of an exiled man,
Consigned to his fate in a jail with no walls,
Knowing that he might, he could, and he can,
If not for a myriad of his own flaws.
Freedom all around him, but no one will look,
For eons have stolen his flair,
And placed him inside an invisible nook,
With space only for one, but no longer a pair.
He looks upon greatness, of men and their deeds,
Lighting passions thought dead long ago,
But now he must wait and repel all his needs,
Whilst the passage of time is unbearably slow.
The cruelty of seeing the days passing by,
Stretches the depths of his soul,
He’s beyond stages of watery eye,
When there’s only a faraway, ethereal goal.
He dare not believe that there is a solution,
To this rigid road that he treads every day,
That tests every fibre of his constitution,
And slashes his heart in a horrible way.
He cannot choose when this chapter will cease,
And a warmth might return to his heart,
Frightened to wish for the slightest of peace,
The smallest, most tremulous start.

The Rose Garden

The plot was brown with dusty earth,
Ragged and edged by weeds,
Yet in her mind there was the birth,
Of a delicate silken seed.

This place was new but once she brushed,
And scraped, and pulled, and cleared,
She quietened her day, and hushed,
And an image then appeared.

There were borders raised and made of wood,
And filled with a deep loam,
That worms and bugs and others could,
Regard as their new home.

And walking down the paths of gravel,
That criss-crossed in between,
The plan became unravelled,
As her mind painted the scene.

Bathed in gentle summers light,
Staked tall, looking well fed,
So many colours, yellow and white,
But dominated by deep red.

For now this is her fantasy,
But I know she'll find a way,
To realise what her mind can see,
And she'll make it real one day.


Composed 2012