There? Poem by Vision Ghost

There?



Never vented, amongst the unrelenting intoxications
Of the shattered face, of such timeless complications
Carrying my pounding head, if not my stuttered heart
Before a little always, becomes much to play its part

Regretting what is forever, in the stone written past
These feelings of which will always, indefinitely last
I am wishing to talk, but they always move so quickly
So for this fleeting moment in myself, I feel so sickly

Not on any level; still effected by socialistic gravity
But unto myself for some reason, I keep saying sorry
Where did I ever loose this, now never to return again?
In the distant pages of time, where my focus was slain

Why can’t the soothing calm seas, ever stay this way?
So my vessel may now float onward, to another day
Sick of always loosing so many faces, that I so loved
Always the one bruised, battered, pushed and shoved

I am here screaming inside, if you could just now see
Not the best for being so better, than you know of me
A mirror that reflects strength, I seemingly cannot find
Too shattered by this world, that’s so cruel and unkind

Wearied and always unchanged, in a task to find myself
Do I seek a level, far too far from a status and wealth?
I frequently see the signs, but always fall for this trap
Couldn’t someone illuminate a path, or show the map

Am I just an adult, or a child with further knowledge?
An answer never found in school, university or college
Is it that I am touched, or quite simply otherwise lost?
Either way my mistakes are mine, so always at my cost

Strange though it is, that I don’t want to ever loose this
Feels as if life is my enemy now, fighting away my bliss
I seem to hurt my friends, the casualties within this war
Even though I’ve been warned, a thousand times before

A lesson never learned and when I do, it’s damned hard
My sight of this is crystal, but always as a broken shard
A piece of me that’s clear, beyond the shadow of doubt
For I would loose myself, if I ever wanted to cast this out
A casual commitment, is at the best that I can expect
So which part of me is real, if you were ever to reflect?
The paradox of the one, upon the stigma of so many
Systematic repetition, that brings me to this diversity

Not knowing what is, or where it should fall into place
Warehouse of a mind, full of dusty shelves lost in the pace
Amongst this I found, a presentation of perfection in death
Much like a butterfly so complete, beyond its final breath

In a final moment I would loose myself, never to return
But always somehow I keep, coming back to realities burn
Of so wishing for one person, to come from this dynasty
To nurture my heart into the final page, of my future history

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Vision Ghost

Vision Ghost

Epsom, East Surrey
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