Paul Latham

Your life in dreams, such a funny thing,
It might be great or totally fake,
Bizarre, surreal, leave you in a state.
From Africa to Rome, then suddenly home.
...

We work to live a life that’s free,
But free for who? We just don’t see.
Freedom to work and slave away, freedom oppression are here to stay.
The meaning of freedom has disappeared.
...

A bad night sleep, I did have.
I dreamt of nothing, for I was sad.
The world was spinning and my head was sore,
Confusion bundled through my door.
...

I sat and watched the sky,
Birds flew, free and high,
Swirling and wishing through clouds in the sky,
The blue glow bearing down into my eyes.
...

Life is all quite funny really,
It’s only real to you,
Like strawberry grass, And beachfuls of glass,
It’s just you,
...

The emptiness inside my head,
An abyss of darkness, love and dread.
With eyes closed in front of mirror,
What on earth seems to shimmer.
...

A bridge I saw, and upon its floor, I walked, I trembled, I shook.
A fragile little bridge I saw, a bridge of rope, wire and hope,
But hope not enough to cross.
Stuck in the middle, crumbling and tumbling into a bottomless pit I fall,
...

Deep and dark inside my head,
Devouring up what I said,
Why do we speak, before we think?
It’s easy to sink, into the brink,
...

I sit,
I watch,
I look,
I learn
...

Head explodes with pressure, building like that of a volcano ready to erupt.
Lava flowing down my neck and face as it spills through my nostrils, ears and mouth.
Eyes growing heavy, worn out and tired after absorbing endless visual stimulation of which I do not choose.
A physical assault on my body, the worse kind, yet nobody has physically touched me.
...

Work to Live,
Don't Live to work.
These words will take you far.
So hurry up and start to look,
...

Same old rooms, day after day,
Nothing seems to change at pace, except my mindset for the day.
Nothing happens blatant or apparent,
Just me, same old me, sitting here tapping.
...

Ants on the road.
Leaving their homes.
A morning of drones.
Grim and unknown.
...

A dreary drab day,
It’s grey gloomy glow gradually growing.
The sunshine’s shimmer spent, smeared,
As wild whipping winds weather,
...

My life’s ludicrous lust.
A poignant perplexed poet, pondering.
Outside drones descend to dull him.
His envious egocentric eyes resting empty.
...