Biography of Mathew Lewis
18 years in Joburg.6 years in Cape Town. A mother in Christchurch, a father in Dar es Salaam...Still not sure where or what is home...Which is possibly the overriding theme in my poetry; the search for home. Be that literally or metaphorically, geographically or thematically. I find myself obsessed with the notion of existence and the apparent absurdity of the world in which we all exist. Is the notion of home simply an invention we create in order to survive or perhaps the need for a place called home is a mechanism we use to define who we are and what we are in the greater scheme of things? Are the things we do a reaction to the outside world or are they an answer to a more pressing problem buried deep within ourselves that keeps asking the question; 'Who am I? '; 'Can I exist in my immediate circumstances if I don't consider those circumstances to be where I belong? '; 'If I don't belong here, then where do I belong and does that place even exist...Is it even a physical location or is true belonging located in another realm all together? ' These are the thoughts that drive what I think and write about. If you like what I have to offer email me at email@example.com or comment on what you think about my poetry.
Mathew Lewis Poems
That has to write what I say,
Suffer the words
That have to serve my brain,
Stupidity and savagery,
A move against humanity
And all that is reality.
On a whim she lost my mind,
Something's there I'll never find,
Angel eyes are colourblind.
Sleeping awake I went on my way,
And as I lookeed up the sun caught my face,
And my tears fell down in ribbons of lace.
On the eastern shore of my demise,
Waters ebb through space and time,
And everybody sees through crystal eyes,
Requiem For The Masses
An old man watches from an allyway
As a hooker walks by.
She wishes it didn't have to be this way
But nobody else tries.
A young boy watches from an empty window
As his soul slowly dies.
No one told him it would be this hard
No one was there when he cried.