Creator / imaginer: Dabbler in art, literature and sound.
Falling from the distant stars through time itself,
Into the deep cool waters of an ancient land,
Lost to all memory, a forgotten numen beneath the waves,
As eons pass the subsiding waters form a vast wasteland,
Miles of desolate emptiness, and beneath these ancient sands of time,
The star fallen sleeps, imprisoned within the dark restraints of dreams.
A Darkness Comes
A second darkness falls with the night,
Slipping behind my eyes from the afternoon shadows,
A thick, greasy film that stinks of fear and sorrow,
It’s a foreign invader, the embodiment of sickness,
Although symptoms are common, at night they feel extreme.
It comes when I’m alone, painting fearful images.
No matter how I try to cope, the torment continues,
It enters my sleep, and pours in thick black nightmares,
Voices tell me I’m dying, whispering sweetly in my ear,
A pain here, a cough there, it has me in its icy grip,
The only thing that combats it is company, distraction, or morning.
Tomorrow it will regroup and return with a vengeance,
For another night of torment, grief, and torture,
My mind can’t rest, the darkness feeds on fear,
I’m not alone, millions of people greet this stranger nightly,
But that doesn’t help me when I’m struggling to sleep,
Where it pokes, prods, and toys with my emotions,
The morning light banishes the beast, forcing it to flee,
Until we battle again tomorrow night, for control of me.
I’m thankful for the springtime,
And how it brings our garden to life,
The morning smell of eucalyptus trees,
Its dewy mornings and its warmer nights,
Afternoon sun showers on freshly cut lawns,
The colour of the flowers makes me love it even more,
The songs of busy insects and the brightly coloured birds,
The sounds of springtime in the country are the best I’ve ever heard.
I cross my front garden to my favourite tree and sit down,
She has a thick leaning trunk and a beautiful green crown,
Soft grass at her base, welcomes my feet like an old friend,
The queen tree is the kind, a younger me would often ascend,
I’d climb to the top and feel the sun on my smiling face,
Above the world in her castle, my secret green hiding place,
Times have changed, and now I must admire her from below,
My bare feet in the grass, and the greying face of an old fellow.
Forest walking,
Self talking,
Rain falling,
Birds calling,
Breath taking,
Hands shaking,
Alone feeling,
Strength stealing,
Anxious being,
Death seeing,
Tree crashing,
Claws slashing,
Teeth biting,
Beast fighting,
Blood dripping,
Mind tripping,
I’m dying,
Anxiety lying!
Well, here we are again, a new day, a new week, a new outlook,
The back of my mind wonders, ‘more from of the same old handbook?’,
There is a self-expectation that things will be better this time,
But each new day seems more energised than this mind if mine,
So, I make coffee, I pen these words, and I start to feel better,
I shuffle, not run at my morning, coffee’s the fuel in my carburettor.
I’m like an older car now, that takes more effort to start each morning,
I need to start with low revs, to avoid a red engine light warning,
I must be gentle and kind to my brain or I’ll suffer for it later,
Because there’s no roadside assist if I drive myself into a crater.
My engine’s still ok, but the bodywork certainly has a few dents,
I’m practiced at my job, and I can deal with what it presents,
I must remember I’m an older car now, and not a young spaceship,
So I strap in and slowly set out on this week’s mental road trip.
When the season in which you were loved fades,
When your worth is no longer considered,
When your importance to the world has withered,
The flowing water of life no longer cascades.
You will first feel there is a widening rift,
Your new exclusion speaks unseen deception,
Your once loved arms now starved of all affection,
This is what I refer to as the drift.
A great mountain looms over these antique lands,
Mysterious and proud the stone giant stands,
Its snow-capped peaks have a perilous beauty,
Climbing to the summit is an impossible duty,
Behind its back is an endless ocean scene,
And in its shadow are lands pastoral and green,
In its ancient forest, the air is heavy and old,
Fern trees and giant mushrooms grow uncontrolled,
It’s said that trees often walk the forest floor,
Gathering in sacred spaces to discuss forest law,
If you stay hidden you may hear them creeping around,
But if they find you, you’ll be crushed into the ground,
Few animals dare to venture into this forgotten place,
And any men who enter vanish without a trace,
So, choose wisely before you visit the forest of dreams
For the mountain is King, and his soldiers are trees.
In the distance, a crystal ship adorned with vivid white sails glistens against an azure sky,
The tranquil surface of the clear blue ocean invokes a serene feeling of comfort and home,
Soft white sand underfoot shimmers like powdered diamonds in the warm midday sun,
Closed eyes feel the radiating warmth, while a fresh ocean breeze caresses the hair,
The gentle washing of water onto the sand accompanies serenading white seabirds overhead,
The earthy scent of lush green grass and sweet wildflowers dances on the breeze,
This moment of dreaming, with its peace and serenity, is alien to the dreamer’s waken world
I need a quiet place in my mind where I can be free,
Where there’s room to grow if the anger lets me,
I’m not a monster or an overly complicated man,
I just have my own problems, and I cope the best that I can.
When the night comes dark and cold, and I lay here awake,
I’m invaded by negative thoughts that I cannot shake,
Morning comes, no change of mind, no great revelations,
Just trains of thought leaving their inhospitable stations.
I even try to distract myself with guided meditation,
But my thoughts are so loud all I get is frustration,
With all this negative thinking, I’ll never be content,
Because at day’s end, it’s with my thoughts alone I have spent.
Dan Verkys 