Jack Ashenden

Responsibility, a heavy load
ways me down, and makes me feel the pressure
action, words - politics all a code
and people's actions, all I must measure
...

Guilt, a passion of the prideful soul
Does act as a shield to the grim reality
Spiritually, we are all unwhole
Victims of materialism, mere earthly fatalities.
...

a beautiful obsession wracks my soul
and purity blinds me, makes me a fool
to know love extracts a terrible toll
as your body becomes a misused tool
...

Depressing my writing has become
In absence of the perfect one.
With heavy heart, a mistress now to seek
I mentally prepare for another painful week.
...

Chaotic thoughts whirl around in my head
perhaps you love me, you probably don't
confused feelings leave me wanting my bed
but I can't, I mustn't ask you, I wont
...

The Magnificent manner of man's thought
hardens our hearts to the way we are taught.
The pure white fires of heaven's creation
doused by a torrent of man's indignation.
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What would I be without my tongue? ,
for all I do doth depend on it.
Could I survive? learn while I am young
to be successful, not fall in the pit.
...

My heart had withered away, pierced right through -
but you came along and pierced my mind too.
The cruellest ache of love has been reborn -
I feel guilt - my conscience is newly torn.
...

Classes of thirty, classes of forty -
distressed teachers moaning in true despair.
While the headmaster plans a grand sortie
children scream - throwing their books in the air.
...

Tremendous joy, a newly found feeling,
fills my young heart to a painful level.
Excitement grows, depression sent reeling,
the mind that had no hope still in revel.
...

Hanging pon our darkest thought, the beast doth wait -
it's presence with our being a fearful thought.
Love seems the way to flee this evil trait
yet far to often, we are often caught.
...

Sensation of the mind as blackest thought
doth creep upon every walking moment.
I remember it was not what I sought,
these icy rings of eternal torment.
...

Oh why do I mourn the loss of my life?
this mediocre poetry does say.
For I am alive and suffer no strife
and so far have kept the reaper away.
...

A mistress is the poet's ultimate desire,
only she can bring creativity to fullest fire.
A poet without a mistress is incomplete,
and perfect writing an impossible feat.
...

My heart is a phantom of its former self,
a blackened mass of darkest thoughts,
yet when I look upon you and your bad health
I begin to remember all that you have taught.
...

Though time may decay your youthful features,
and dark nicotine lines furrow your brow,
your smile will remain like the miniatures
you create with infallible know how.
...

Oh true misfortune! I know thee too well-
All I commit to paper will, doth tell.
Perhaps a dark side to my soul doth hide,
and I, its slave, move forward almost blind.
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Silent she is, silent do I find her.
Sweet nothings she doth whisper in my ear.
Though sorrow I knew, she gave me a stir.
When I feel pain, she doth shed a loving tear.
...

From high, the common horn doth blow, it's sound
a reflection of our darkest low thought.
We cannot escape - this doth confound
all of he'vn and earth that follow we ought.
...

'Do it now! ' I say, as hope doth glimmer -
a passing thought that will soon fade away.
For years I'd seen love as bad, love for sinners,
and now I fear that love is here to stay.
...