David Medforth Poems

Houses dotted here and there;
Plotted landscape. Time and care.
A swarming sea of starlings see
The heather meadows down below.
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If all the dreams I ever dreamt;
Captured one story true.
T'would dictate that each day spent;
Would count its hours with you.
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There's sheep; sheep on the hill.
They look out for one and all.
Their woolen coats of hate and spite,
Out to get me, out to fight.
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I have no rule over my existence.
My life is being hunted by a relentless, marauding darkness.
Let them to this Kingdom come;
For without my Queen I have no need for a throne.
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There will be dark days, but they will be rare. My world is shifting around me and the sounds it makes are overwhelming.
Black is not fear, regret, sadness nor fate. It is merely a canvass to which we must add each our own colour. And darkness an opportunity; a challenge to bring light.

The Empty is whole - at least, it once was - an all-consuming testament to self-doubt and denial. Black is the begin again. It is the reset. Black is the opportunity to show what you have learned and rewrite the future. Black is not failure; it is a new attempt. A different approach. A single soul plucked from a cast of thousands to bring colour to this fresh canvass.
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