Life is a long journey
People say life is short but it’s not
It definitely goes quickly
Which only when you look back
It’s still been long
It’s taken many years, doing what you’re doing
Many years to master your skills
Many years doing the same old thing
Talking to the same old people
The same friends and family
They tell you to get married, have children and fit in
But none of that will make you happy
Many marriages fail, children leave you behind
All you’re left is with yourself
So before you try to ‘fit in’
Try to be happy
Find your strengths
Reach for the stars
You don’t know what’s to come
Anything is possible
You only realise that as you grow
Be your own best friend
Live your own life
This poem is in response to the short story called Misery by Anton Chekhov
“To Whom Shall I Tell My Grief?”
Sorrow shimmers through his body
His son – his little baby calf – dead!
oh! What agony!
To lose a loved one is to repent a lifetime
If only someone would hear him bawl
Listen vehemently to his grief – his distress – his pain.
He would cry to the world
Curse at the cosmos
To acquire the wishful years lost;
For his only son to reappear in his arms again.
R.I.P – Kuzma Ionitch
Here they appear again
the demons, they envelop the brain
Confusing any ounce of sanity that used to be naturally present
Distortions of visual images
Distortions of sound vibrations in the air
If there’s such a thing as hell
it needs to be this
A deception of the real world
A blockage to function
Unnecessary triggers and gradual increase in amplitude
Weakness in the reality;
Rightness in the wrong;
Believing in the non-existent; believing in the lies.
Deception is hell.
A form of psychedelia.
Fight against all odds.