The Days


I was in so much pain that it seemed as if, at the moment of creation, it flared so bright and powerful that it instantly burned itself out.  Anyway, here’s a fucking poem I wrote ages ago about some God damn shit I was feeling and thinking.  And now I just feel a little tired and am going to visit the beach, on account of it being a beautiful day:

 

The days: they twist and turn through strife,

Though there’s plenty of love and smiles in life.

The days: they wax and wane eternal,

Our presence, tragically short, infernal.

 

Some seem to hate the yellow star,

As months fall off the calendar.

In the sun we all must see a friend,

Who’s there from start until the end.

 

It circles round us indifferent,

Cares not if our energy is spent,

Cares not if we do sail the sky,

Nor in the filthy gutter we lie.

 

Yet a good friend is there always,

Through thick, thin and tragic days.

A good friend will with you smile,

And rebuke your error once in a while.

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Victorian farmland

 

A good friend’s there to say the things,

You may right then detest.

But please do not ignore the stings,

‘Cause you might ignore the rest.

 

The people with whom we share the pain,

The driving, cold, winter rain,

Are people whom with equal measure,

We share the fleeting and rare pleasure.

 

‘Tis as simple as saying, ‘Hi’,

And so doing ‘til we die.

‘Tis as simple as, ‘So long’,

When we are no longer strong.

 

You’re here,

I’m there.

A curtain fall,

And that’s all.

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