Anthracite

Looking down there is a path ahead, clear and inviting

Looking back there are stains in the dirt, muddy and frightening

Scared maybe of what lies ahead on the bend, worthy but unseen

Scared of what I may have left behind, comfortable but mean

Walking ahead of others as I leave broken pieces, shattered in my wake

Walking behind others as I step over mistakes, the same ones I’ll make

Learning from the blood left from death, empty eyes, ignorance and wrath

Learning from the stolen pieces of my soul that have graciously stained my path

The most important person
to recognise your struggle
is the person that pulls you through

Even better the revelation
from the bitter evidence before you
it comes from the tortured soul within

See what you have in your hand
and know all things are of the land

be happy of your sword and shield
and make bread from the wheat

you have in your field

And here it comes all teeth and smiles
a nonchalant flip of the wrist, head tilted back
no recognition of others scars or hard miles
subtle turns to sweep the blood from your track

Colouring your hair and face to turn the tide
the show with no programme or half time
your toll must be paid with no place to hide
unknowingly it is the past for which you repine

When you knew who you were without any doubt
not lost in a false pond and behind repugnant paint
somehow you think your life is in pieces without grout
and maybe it’s true, you’ve never tried to be a saint

Tumbling down a well worn path
one that’s not familiar but known

many have left desperate signs
of mistakes and ignorant choices

but only if you walk with awareness
do you see the uselessness of emotion

Can you feel that?
a riffle invades your calm
feeling the thick rise from your feet
you should know what this is
but you don’t

slipping into a torpor state
just for a moment as you wait
it’s here now, trying to push
your soul up your throat

then it stops
the feeling of utter loneliness
retrograding back to the dark

back to some sort of normal
and you return to the pen

Mystery forces us to think, wondering what’s under the stair
but the unknown only damages, in the presence of our fear

Should one guess who we are? Or accept, whether strong or meek?
eyes see good and bad, but only our minds keep what we seek

Our privilege as people is to share what we know
Souls blossom as we witness seeds that we have sown

We must encourage ourselves to open our minds
allow us to be us, it costs nothing to be kind.

No one knows the power of joy, that pinnacle of living
until they make someone happy, thus wilfully giving

Taking strength from those around us to impart our gift
accepting others as fountains no matter what the rift

And before we can teach of happiness and sin
we must know of us, the person we are within

Clothes of cotton, wool, tweed or silk only cover skin and bone
but underneath when we know the joy, melted are the hearts of stone.

Knowing the secrets of the world, is a forever chase through life’s mad miles
there is no secret to this enigma, the only answer being, happiness and smiles

Hope is that we wish these things, for all the you’s and the me’s
then to feed off the joy and celebrate with laughter, void of emotional fees

Life is all about our fears and needs, clean and shiny or with a smudge
our shame is only when we are old, when we realise that love, is not to judge

So once when known, we watch each other fly free, this way and that
experiencing the view, and excitement of sharing when one keeps coming back

For that in itself is the magic of joy that seals our soul
to see each other close, happy and joyfully whole
​
All enjoy the comfort of trust, that only comes once shared
this is the nisus of all peoples, everyone, single or paired

So as one reads and digests these words, it becomes plain to see
that joy, trust and happiness comes down the you’s and me’s.

I know who I am, I said to the wind
learnings I have carried as evidence
unsaid things can never find their time
and said things cannot be retrieved
but whose problem is that really
when all is displayed and seen
with arguments produced and won
you can never make the stupid unblind

You are no different from the queen and her ant
revel in your stupidness for there is comfort there
and know that the imitation of life you now have
is graciously given to you at the whim of others

You know you are not one of them
one of the beautiful people

You know but you swallow the moment
one of the ugly people

Clothes don’t fit and you’re so old fashioned
one of the poor people

Knowing this and not caring makes you
one of the strong people