I hardly ever write poetry, but I do enjoy it, and have made a few poems, so I thought I'd store them here so anybody who stumbles across this website can read them and either enjoy them or hate them, but also so that I can access them from anywhere easily :).


Their love is as special as a grape on the vine,
Unique as a daisy in a field.
Their bond is something I needn’t define,
And yet it remains concealed.

Their kisses must stay behind a locked door,
If found it would be the end.
The omnipresent demons are a powerful force,
From which they cannot fend.

And what reason for it to be this way,
Will the demons tell them why?
 But tolerance is never truly displayed,
When ignorance suits them fine.

And what crime have the lovers committed?
What sentence to give the heart?
Why bigotry like this is permitted,
When it can only keep them apart?

But before you read the following verse,
Imagine if this were you.
Picture the pain and prejudice first,
Before you torment them too.

So what is the reason for their love’s demise,
Their relationship like no other?
The brother and sister are forced to lie,
Because of their love for each other.

A world bettered

In striving to perfection we aim
to a standard of fiction in vain.
But in pursuit of the light,
so elusive: we might wake
to a world bettered by the sight
of beauty, as it unfurls.
Does it matter if perfection has a place in reality? No,
on reflection, for we chase
what is, yes, a fruitless dream,
but no less what might mean
a world bettered by the gleam
of our standard; held proud in the battle of our desires.
If it transpires to be nothing,
so be it, but something will always come
from the pursuit of perfection.
If only a world bettered.

The Gem

Caught up in the war for survival
The prize can be seen from the front line
All crave it though few admit it
And fewer still will the treasure find

Dressed in empathy, in love and passion,
Or disguised in hedonism and lust
It matters not the welfare of others,
In seeking the gem, needs must.

Power is the crux, the key, the solution
Sustenance of the soul
And yet we shroud the weapon in illusion,
Delusion of our true goal

Granted, some take the peaceful route,
And not all attempts bring war.
But it's hard to deny the slippery slope,
Those who have it always want more.

Take this simple rhyme, for example
Penned in pretentious prose
After all, I may be wrong,
What the hell do I know?

All play and no work

What if there was no more work, just play?
Instead we went to Play every day.
All play and no work; ahh, the joy!
No longer is little Jack a dull boy.
Seven days a week would pleasure abide,
Boring and serious things set aside.

Tar and soot and coal are past,
Industry is done and dusted last.
Offices and centres razed to the ground.
Nary a lazier city could be found.
Cinemas and shopping centres all that's left.
The hedonist society drove itself to death.

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