Afraid

Tags

Afraid, Change, creative, Fear, loss, poems, poetry, Truth, writing

Afraid

Of the night

The truths that hide in the shadows;

Of the day

And the light that reveals the flaws.

Afraid

Of the sounds

Which fill the rooms with laughter and tears;

Of the silence

And the demons which it feeds.

Afraid

Of the crowd

The sense of estrangement which grows;

Of the solitude

Which settles like an unfriendly ghost.

Afraid

Of inertia

Trapped in the mire of eternity;

Of change

And the loss of the ground beneath.

Afraid

Of the page

Its whiteness screaming in my ear;

Of the words

That give away far too much.

Afraid

Of death

And leaving so much left undone;

Of life

And all the doors left unopened.

Afraid.

 

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2019

 

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A Farewell

Tags

creative, fiction, flash, flash fiction, Honesty, loss, short stories, story, thoughts, writing

I thought of you then, on the day that I left, knowing, despite the words, that we would never meet again. I thought of you as I sat in the darkness, as the Sun dipped like a dying friend beyond the horizon for what might as well have been the last time. I knew that I, like the errant Sun, would rise again, but that neither of us would ever be quite the same: the Sun would burn fractionally less brightly, its gaseous source ever so slightly diminished, and I, with less reason to rise than before, would begin to become a shadow of myself. I thought of you and the words that we had shared wondering if you had ever truly understood my meaning. Had you thought of me as a friend or merely an acquaintance, and had I ever truly understood what lay behind your eyes? I thought of how close I felt that we had become, our shoulders brushing against one another as we shared a joke, our laughter spreading its roots between us connecting us forever, or so I had imagined. But did you leave me behind along with all the other artefacts of work when you closed the door behind you and returned to your home?

I thought of you and wondered whether I had been too obscure, too subtle in my words and looks, for you to see me. And what exactly had I felt? Was this a connection that I felt that I had needed or something that had burst upon me unexpectedly and had opened a new door which whispered quietly for me to go through? Perhaps the moment had come for me, after a life of living at a comfortable distance from the edge, to finally take a chance, a risk. But, of course, caution is a powerful bedfellow, and, by the time I had recognised the chance, if had closed its eye for ever.

I thought of you then and wondered if you had ever lain alone in the dark beneath the Summer’s heat: I wondered if, like me, you had lost yourself to imagination; and I wondered if you had ever found yourself with your hand between your legs, wishing its fingers were mine.

 

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2019

 

Alone

Tags

Alone, creative, Life, poems, poetry, time, verse, writing

And the pages turn

And the numbers fade

Like they always have

And they always will

Wiping clean the slates

And erasing words

Hiding the faces

And fading the names

And we all look back

As we always do

Try to see the things

That were never there

And when out of sight

Means we’re out of mind

Did they really mean

Anything at all

If for just one day

We could see it all

Touch the ones we know

See if something’s real

Or just shy away

Like we always do

Afraid to make the move

To hide and die alone.

 

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2019

 

Underneath the floorboards

Tags

creative, Floorboards, poems, poetry, thoughts, verse, writing

Underneath the floorboards

Where the downstairs people lie

With their clay-heavy hands

And their hollow eyes blind,

Underneath the floorboards

With the roaches and the dreams

The lost coins and the fears

And nothing more to buy,

Underneath the floorboards

Where I cannot find my sleep

And all I taste is dust

And all that breathes is death,

Underneath the floorboards

With the grammar and the text

The stolen thoughts and smiles

That’ll never rise above,

Underneath the floorboards

Where the downstairs people lie

My feet between their teeth

The window out of reach.

 

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2018

 

On the Roof

Tags

creative, poems, poetry, verse, writing

I used to live

Up on the roof,

And trick myself

I knew the truth,

I’d smile at those

So far below,

And think of all

They’d never know.

 

I used to live

Upon the stair,

And never think

Of when or where,

I’d watch the days

They’d come and go,

And rise above

Their ebb and flow.

 

I used to write

My name in ink,

So those who passed

Might stop and think,

I’d leave my mark

On buildings high,

To mark my presence

In the sky.

 

I used to live

Upon the ground,

My voice silenced

Without a sound,

And all the things

I thought I knew,

Shattered broken

Now cast askew.

 

So now I live

Beneath the floor,

The game was missed

Forgotten score,

And when I look

Up to the sky,

I see the lost

The ones like I.

 

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2018

 

Pitted Roots

Tags

creative, poems, poetry, verse, writing

His eyes the pitted roots

Pinned like a steeple

Beneath the fearful soil

Watching as the cracks began to grow

Their snake path trails

Lost too soon

Beneath the baking sun

Its twisted kiss reaching out

Like the first birdsong of summer

Its death-winter words

Masked behind the sweetness

Its melodious hum

Rising from the fallen ash

Dreams like smoldering flakes of paper

Flicker brief eye shadows

Burst like wishes in the light

Invisible they slink back between the cracks

Dust-filled shoes trace marks upon the sandstone

Weather-worn features carved smooth

Like the drowned as they slide

With graceful elegance beneath the waves

Hands puffed soft

Like a newborn babe already dead

Eyes innocence wide

With knowledge of every unwritten word

Wishing for things that could not be

A second sight that withers falls

Like death-head petals

Velvet-soft caressing cheeks

Their stain blood-brown upon our skins

The mark of the condemned

Silent executioners move within us

Haunting the places we call home

Biding their time until we no longer feel

The pain

Our eyes in resignation raised

To see between the cracks

Too late to pull

Our pitted root souls.

 

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2018

 

The Best That You Knew

Tags

creative, faith, poems, poetry, Truth, verse, writing

I saw the rise of the Sun

And the fall of the Moon,

I saw your heads split open

Trying to silence their tune,

I heard the rush of your voice

And the power of your song,

I heard the words whispered low

Behind the hands of the strong,

 

I saw the candles at night

The fire that burned inside,

I saw the blankets of fear

Breakers against the tide,

I felt the blood on my hands

The taste of the tears that you spilled,

I felt the guilt of my Sex

Losing the heart we had killed.

 

I saw the skin fall away

A carcass of blood and bone,

I saw the symbols you bore

A child that nobody could own,

I was the hope that we burned

The drowning days out of my hands,

I was the best that you knew

A failing hope lost in the sand.

 

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2018

 

Slowly

Tags

creative, faith, Humanity, Life, poems, poetry, verse, writing

He bends slowly,

Kneels, with the grace of earlier years

Lost behind him,

Shuffles to the floor,

No longer shy

Of the days that he has seen,

Crosses himself with fingers

Worn to the bone,

Withered skin wrinkled

The scars of things

No-one else could know,

And thoughts turn

Like a ferris wheel grown old,

Rusted at the elbow,

Tired now of reaching up

And grasping only the disappointment

Of the crash,

Tearing at the sky

And feeding only the salted sea

With tears that dropped like feathers,

Waiting for the page to turn,

The wish to turn to truth,

The voice to speak his name,

He bends and sinks,

Half composed, half falling,

To the floor,

Hopes that his movements have been seen,

Been captured in the eyes

Of someone he cannot see,

And not slipped, unnoticed,

Between fingers grown arthritic

Through abandonment and regret,

He crosses himself again,

Head bowed,

Brought low by the burdens

Of those he had known,

Wishing now that his words would be heard,

That time would don its darkened cloak

And slip between the frame,

The doorway he had left ajar,

And wield its sharpened blade,

He bends slowly,

Kneels and crosses himself,

And sighs.

 

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2018

 

Heart Out

Tags

creative, Depression, emotion, isolation, lyrics, poems, poetry, Rap, verse, writing

When words like fire,

Burn into my soul,

I lose myself,

Can’t seem to keep control,

Intentions hang,

From a gallows pole,

And love is blurred,

Eyes blackened by kohl.

 

When reasons fail,

Feelings pushed aside,

Leaves a bitter taste,

Where something died,

And all the things,

That we ever shared,

Broken shattered,

Like no-one cared.

 

Though it tears my heart out,

You know it tears my heart out,

Every day.

Yes it tears my heart out,

Nails it to an old tree,

For you to wear.

 

When shadows fall,

On the bleeding ground,

And voices scream,

Without a sound,

And days all merge,

An unholy night,

The black dog howls,

Drowns out the light.

 

When silence rings,

Like a broken bell,

And four walls hold you,

Like a cell,

And all the things,

That you ever said,

Come back to life,

Inside your head.

 

Though it tears my heart out,

You know it tears my heart out,

Every day.

Yes it tears my heart out,

Nails it to an old tree,

For you to wear.

 

When the ghosts you thought,

You’d lain to rest,

Grow stronger now,

Within your chest,

And the visions that,

You thought were dead,

Echo louder now,

Inside your head.

 

When words like fire,

Leave a bitter track,

There’s no way out,

And no way back,

And all the time,

We’d tried to change,

There’s no chance now,

To rearrange.

 

Though it tears my heart out,

You know it tears my heart out,

Every day.

Yes it tears my heart out,

Nails it to an old tree,

For you to wear.

 

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2018

 

Clear Water

Tags

creative, Escape, lyric, poems, poetry, verse, Water, writing

The pressure’s on

Can’t feel it crack,

A thousand reasons

Won’t look back,

The weight of days

Can’t hold them all,

Can’t let them go

To see them fall.

 

Take me down

Oh, take me down now,

Take me down to where,

The water’s clear,

A place where we can breathe,

A place where we can be,

A place where everything,

Is how it ought to be.

 

I walk these streets

Beneath the moon,

Can’t find the answers

Lost too soon,

No one watching

From up above,

No retribution

In kid glove.

 

I can’t show it

If you can’t see,

A promised world that’s

Not to be,

And I can’t hold

All this for you,

If all you have’s

A heart so blue.

 

Take me down

Oh, take me down now,

Take me down to where,

The water’s clear,

A place where we can breathe,

A place where we can be,

A place where everything,

Is how it ought to be.

 

The pressure’s on

Can’t see it drop,

A thousand reasons

Not to stop,

The weight of days

I’ll keep them here,

And with a smile

Erase the fear.

 

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2018