Christopher Withers

Christopher Withers Poems

Life is
fake,
life is
real,
...

vision stunted by past deeds
leading to my current place,
childhood face: disconnected,
now adrift on stagnant lake.
...

I used to think the restless waves,
Touched the beach in sweet embrace,
Shaped its form with loving hand,
Bestowing gifts to charm its swain.
...

words elude my breaking sight,
dream, and dreams of forms
bear might.
built and forged upon the light, now -
...

willingly, each night we fade,
drifting out from structured thought
into yawning oblivious depth:
willingly, our greatest fears embraced
...

what is Love? indeed,
what is it to Love?
how can one glance truth,
fight through the ingrained gloss
...

in lieu of gifts and flowered word,
in my stead i'll place your care.
at each dawn i'll hold you near,
talking of our love so clear.
...

'see', I yell, to the gathering crowd,
but
rather than 'seeing',
each eye, slack jaw and gaping mouth
...

each babe wakes to earths new dawn,
mistaking new for what is worn,
futures cast before they're born.
...

death is
just

cold.
...

screaming bombs fall from the sky
darkness washes out the eye
hidden people start to die
...

I watch myself
watch myself
watching their dance,
my action is actioned
...

13.

Do not

Be frightened of the 'life',
The path which leads through shadows reach -
...

Deadlines besiege me, as stress pennoned limbs
ache for action, yet, procrastination consumes me.
I know relief will come, when: task complete
I can truly unbend, sit back and relax.
...

i search, i look
for sublime touch,
of meaning in
the dirt and dust.
...

needing the bathroom late at night, silently,
i feel my way through the darkness,
slowly across the bedroom floor.
being careful not to trip or bang, i’m
...

our future together, we weave
from crystal strands, each of which
diffracts the sunlight into rainbow hues,
painting our hopes, dreams and intentions
...

a surge of grief washes my senses,
seeming to ride the dim,
blue, evening light, and
suddenly i realise, that
...

the sun becomes an incandescent sword,
a shimmering arc,
drawn across the rivers surface, as
laughter rings out - scaring into flight,
...

a lack of memories prior to birth
instils not dread or fear,
so why, i question
does the thought of similar
...

Christopher Withers Biography

I guess I try to explore things which are not easily graspable with words. I try to write pieces which evoke 'something'. I try to write pieces that I myself would like to read. Ultimately, I try to write away from the well worn path that poetry usually treads. My writing is first draft, and I hope I am improving. Some day, I might write the piece which truely defines that 'something' I feel.)

The Best Poem Of Christopher Withers

Life Is

Life is
fake,
life is
real,
life:
a concept,
thoughtless spiel.

Flesh bag, flesh sag,
stitched to fragile bone,
jelly eyes
suck the light,
as brain
devours the whole.

Gibbered lips,
cast to the air
the only tale they're told,
a truth, a truth,
that casts no light
beyond it's owners trail.

as curtain falls,
night takes its bow,
and words, they fade away.

a history, cast out of sight,
henceforth to be unknown.

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