Aftershade

Dying
to just speak those words
that slip past my consciousness
like wind whipping away.

Wanting to open
the book that needs
closure and waiting,
against all the odds.

Against the flow of existence,
I still stand,
crying, shaking;
A Little Boy standing on his own
in the pouring rain
waiting once again
for someone to come in through the door
with a bottle to numb the pain,
‘knowing’ his son of shame.

Why do all the colours fly by
my eyes
and my teeth grit and
I just really want
the hole of my heart to be torn out.

Tear it out, rip it out,
I won’t cry for it. I don’t want it.

There is so much love,
in my boyish eyes,
and a smile to die for.

Somebody already died for it.
But I can’t relate, I can’t say what I want to.
Instead I play hazy games
and evoke a word play
and never say
what I feel today
when it should be so simple.

Why shouldn’t it be so simple?


This one I can't remember writing, but it is very personal and very specific, relating to a certain period of my life where I was simply struggling to understand some facets about my faith. This is one of those examples I mentioned earlier of something I was writing to expunge my feelings on the matter which isn't something I would necessarily believe or say in the present or future but maybe they are some things said that people may very well sympathise with.

Matt K, Jan. 2005.