I Write Poetry
Restless
Mind meandering through its vacant spaces
The wind blew away the dirt tracks to my favourite hiding places
So I sit amongst the light and the dark and the routines of night and day
And I feel the unfathomable existence and loss of a place I want to lay
A resting place for all my sorrows, and all my treasures too
A home whose door is always open with warm hands that pull me through
A sofa that lets me lay out a dichotomy of dreams and holds me in its arms and watches them with me
A kettle brewing with an eager listening ear and a strongly brewed mug of tea
A record player that plays our tunes, the scratches and repeats
And at the end of day a patchwork of your poetry spread on silken sheets
Alas this home is just a dream
A fleeting vision never seen
A thought, a hope that must demise
In my restless mind it won't survive
Restless because the open doors are locked and bolted
The forest of my imagination is dead and dreams are halted
There is no warm place to lay my busy head
No soft slumber only nightmares and dread
Only silence where I cast out my cacophony
Who could ever understand my manic melody?
My highs and my lows?
Going too fast, unable to be slow
Rapid restless ramblings
Saying nothing anything everything
Hoping one day to find a place
A peaceful restful loving space
A home where inside I am free
A home which loves when I am me
Mind meandering through its vacant spaces
The wind blew away the dirt tracks to my favourite hiding places
So I sit amongst the light and the dark and the routines of night and day
And I feel the unfathomable existence and loss of a place I want to lay
A resting place for all my sorrows, and all my treasures too
A home whose door is always open with warm hands that pull me through
A sofa that lets me lay out a dichotomy of dreams and holds me in its arms and watches them with me
A kettle brewing with an eager listening ear and a strongly brewed mug of tea
A record player that plays our tunes, the scratches and repeats
And at the end of day a patchwork of your poetry spread on silken sheets
Alas this home is just a dream
A fleeting vision never seen
A thought, a hope that must demise
In my restless mind it won't survive
Restless because the open doors are locked and bolted
The forest of my imagination is dead and dreams are halted
There is no warm place to lay my busy head
No soft slumber only nightmares and dread
Only silence where I cast out my cacophony
Who could ever understand my manic melody?
My highs and my lows?
Going too fast, unable to be slow
Rapid restless ramblings
Saying nothing anything everything
Hoping one day to find a place
A peaceful restful loving space
A home where inside I am free
A home which loves when I am me
