Fireweed - (English Exercise Book, High School)

I like it best like this,
Grown-over; healed,
Like a war-time wound,
The memory stays though the bleeding's over.

A beautiful building,
Walls crumbling down,
Fireweed clambering up,
Patching the wound,
Healing the visable past.

But the memory still lingers,
Of perfect walls.
The memory that follows,
Of raw wounds in the brickwork.

And then,
Healing new life,
Climbing up the walls,
Fireweed.

14

So many questions going unanswered
I know that it isn't that plain to see,
But the fact still remains, it just seems quite hidden
Really how much you mean to me.

So I'm going to wait with words unspoken,
Me being me and you being you,
And if beautiful people don't comfort your heart,
Maybe then you will follow me through...

The Metallic Truth.

Robots don't share.

26.03.08 - 29.06.10

Tip-Toe feathers
Scared to make a sound
Amidst the harsh wind,

A fragile skeleton
Of an autumn leaf
Lies untouched

And all is turning
To an era yet to be labelled
As anything, yet.

A generation, lost
Within the fast lanes and
tracks of uncertain value;
Steadily losing all
sense of direction
Let alone ultimate destination.

Finding your way
amongst silent leaves and
harsh winds
Is unnerving, to say the least.

Cool Deeps

"Cool deeps..." she sighs,
"I have sought after and tried
to drench in beauty, relationships,
and, those failing, wine"

But haven't we all, 'till we've needed to drink?
And then the "cool deeps" are found,
They become vapour then pour down;
Hard droplets into our softening lives,
They pound.

It is only in the rain
That most of us gain a peep
At the power of the ocean,
And the coolness of the deeps.

"But during droughts am I diseased?
I am told if not at ease,
My mind seethes instabilities,
And for behaviour to please,
I must 'swallow these'
And learn to agree..."

No; London and Paris shall  not suffice,
Nor the love of a man, nor being his wife,
Nor mistress, nor temptress,
Nor solitary maiden,
Will compare to the cool deeps
Of the rainfall in Eden.

Only the touch of an angel's whisper,
Inducing a quenching of thirst
From the introspections of depressions,
From inward torture, neurotic hurt,
I am lifted, delivered,
Set free now rain falls,
The Cool Deeps have found me,
And it is now my home calls.

Bethany Jane Alexander (16.02.10)

I watch you softly singing,
A song entitled "Cordouroy".
I'm sure your spaghetti would love it, too,
If spaghetti had ears.

Fly-by Heart

Fly-by Heart has strings so cold,
That when they're played, they cry (so I'm told)
Heart-shaped tears; droplets of gold,
I hope that this love never grows old...