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Sunday, 15 December 2013


The light so bright, its blinding
Feet nervously shuffling as I look around
Look up as I clear my throat
Open my mouth but I make no sound.


Its beautiful, isn't it?
The calm before the storm.
The serenity of the moment,
right before it shows its true form?

A cough in the audience.

The apprehension is exhausting
Can they see the sweat on my brow?
My fingers won't stop trembling
I feel nauseous to the core.

A twitching left eye.

They're judging me right now
I know it in my gut,
I was a nobody and always will be one
This is my moment, my only moment.

A camera flashes.

I picture myself, up on the dais
A fool amidst a crowd of wits
My head hangs low, my self-belief, lower
I look down, into the abyss.

The screech of a microphone.

I'm shocked back into reality
But not into speech, my throat's so dry
I have failed, my will is broken
My heart gives up. I cry.


I cry for every day I've lost
I cry for every unwritten ream,
I cry for every broken voice
I cry for every unheard scream.

A sniffle in the crowd.

I cry for every heart I've broken
I cry for every friend that's parted,
I cry for everything unfinished
I cry for what I never started.


Why are they clapping? 
What do they see?
What are they doing?
Was it maybe.. me?

The hint of a smile.

Poetry, what does it mean to you?
Syllables, words or a rhyming scheme?
A shapeless thought, an abstract idea
A fantasy, or an impossible dream?


Poetry to me, is syllables.
Poetry to me,  is words.
Poetry to me,  is a rhyming scheme.
Poetry to me,  is a shapeless thought.
Poetry to me,  is an abstract idea.
Poetry to me,  is a fantasy.
Poetry to me,  is an impossible dream.
Poetry to me,  is a photograph.
Poetry to me,  is a speech.
Poetry to me,  is a sunset.
Poetry to me,  is a gesture.
Poetry to me,  is raindrops on my window.
Poetry to me,  is the memories I treasure.
Poetry to me,  is the shreds I preserve.
Poetry to me,  is the smiles I remember.
Poetry to me,  is the tears I cry.

Poetry to me,  is everything.
Everything is poetry to me.

I walk off, not having said a word
I don't look up, nor show you my face,
Not one word spoken, yet my heart lies open
And I welcome you, to my solace.