Am I just a plaything for some
ethereal being on a whim?
Are there greater powers than our
souls can even comprehend? Can 
they take our breath as easily as they
bestow it? Will they?

Is Sin bound to human hearts, or might 
greater beings have wrath rumble through 
their souls?
Do we owe them all emotion? Who 
will calm our tempers when thunder reigns 
free?

Are they beings as we are?
How egotistical to think that the greatest souls...

I’m eleven
and my hands are shaking
as I cross that road for the first time.
My throat closes up and I feel
the rapid beating of my heart.
I wish I only felt that the first time.
In my head I’m crying, screaming,
Go home. Go home. Turn around and don’t walk in.
But I walk in anyway.
Everything was okay.
I’m in my form room,
seeing so many new faces,
then something pushes me forward and there I...

Maybe the Earth could tell I was alone
when I stood by the shore.
The waves were high and mighty
leaping
closer and closer
to my toes with every crash.
The winds stole my breath
every breath
knocking it out of me
even as I stood gasping for mercy.
They were powerful.

The next time I ventured there
I wasn't alone.
Maybe they could tell.
The air was light and joyful
brushing my cheek like a
loving embrace.
The water...

I’m eleven
and my hands are shaking
as I cross that road for the first time.
My throat closes up and I feel
the rapid beating of my heart.
I wish that was the only time I’d felt like that walking into school.
In my head I’m crying and screaming,
Go home. Go home. Turn around and don’t walk in.
But I walk in anyway.
Everything was okay.
I’m in my form room,
seeing so many new faces,
then something...

They want me to write
‘Just hope.’
Ha. Hope is not here. It is bleak and dark and I hate it.
They will know
That I’m acting of course.
Spewing joy as if it’s my life’s work.
Like I believe it. Ha.
Hope is imaginary.
Actually, no.
It’s the name of a celebrity’s child who does anything
But inspire it.
How can I write of hope when I don’t feel it.
There are no bubbles.
I am sensible and rational. ...

There is no raging gunfire
in this war
It is silent
We are not closely packed for warmth
in this war
We are far apart
isolated 
alone.
This war drives people apart
and rallies them together.
This is a war
but afterwards the poppies will grow:
In the place of everyone who lost their life,
Who worked to save us.
In the hearts of the survivors
the poppies will grow.
The poppies
will
grow.

My alarm goes off at seven 
And the news goes on 
She blooms in our chest once more 
Before dropping us to Hell’s pits below. 

I take a lunch break at one 
And the news goes on 
My heart is racing as I’m  
lifted,
higher 
and higher 
And then dropping to the cold Earth again. 

My work finishes at five 
And the news goes on 
I’m rising past the treetops 
higher than I’ve been before 
I can almost see...