The Lonely Silence Of The Dark

Lonely silence of the dark,
The dark days gone past,
Those yet to come,

Waiting for those light days, the ones to look forward to.
To hope for,
To live for.

When the darkness of the night is all around,
With silence as the figure lurking in the dark.
The depths of night.
An impenetrable shroud;
Thick, dark, all-consuming.
Suffocating at a touch.

The feeling of life,
The memories returning,
But only for a time.
The deep sadness,
To accompany the lonely silence of the dark.

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Out Of Mind

Out of mind,
I hide the feelings,
Scared of where they could take me,
Offered care and kindness.

Trying to keep the pain out of my mind.
To keep in the happiness,
A game of pretend,
To ignore my mind and emotions.
The pain that comes with darkness.
The shining light, that echoes in the darkness.

The mind, clouded with worry, sadness and uncertainty.
Trying to push all feelings out of mind.
Trying to save myself from my demons.

An attempt to hold strong against the dark.
To keep the leeches at bay.
To wipe my mind,
To save the body.

Out of mind is the answer,
Or it must be,
The solution I face,
Only way past it.

Out of mind.
To cope, to save me.

Rift

Rift running deep,
Evicerated by the thoughts.
Turmoil of emotiness,
The rage in the quiet.

The silent darkness,
Walking through the dark alone,
The darkness my home.
Defiant and strong.
The rage my instrument

Thinking of time.
Confined to the mind.
Emptying out my pain.
Filling it with rage,
Turning it empty.

Myself, a dark night,
Dimly lamp-lit.
A figure stabdibg on the corner.

Silently watching,
Everything let go.
The darkness, the silence and emptiness all a familiar friend.

Friends unfamiliar,
Living without seeing.
Unable to help regardless.

A confusing state,
This rift.
Rift of mind,
Rift of sight,
Of being and of thinking.

Left to the black emptiness.
Somehow tricking myself into and out of feeling.

An emptiness without sadness,
Without happiness.
Mere being.

Sad words to others,
For me, a state i understand,
A state i cannot feel,
This rift within me.

Mistake

Silly mistakes,
Costly ones.
Thoughts and worries,
Rushing through my head.
Unable to think or sleep.
Over what I have done.

My mistake made.
My mistake made.

The worries all-consuming me.
The crazy worries.

Unable to sleep,
For my mistake.

An error made in rush and panic.

Seemingly nothing
But the worry consumes me.

More for what it means.
The wider thoughts,
Its implications.

Lying awake in worry,
Unable to sleep.
The mistake I made.
An error of judgement.

A mistake,
And what it means.
My mistake made.

Looking Back Fondly

Looking back fondly,
The memories and moments once shared.
Time has passed.
Things have changed.
Looking back fondly.

Circumstances have changed,
Now is not the same,
Not alike.
I miss the past,
The time spent,
Our conversations,
What we shared.
Looking fondly back.

Maybe all an illusion.
The inevitable death that time brings.
I cannot tell.
Was it all a lie?
It all for nothing?
Was it something.
I cannot tell.
Looking fondly back.

Memories, photos and feelings,
All to remind me,
Of what I found.
What you showed me.
How I tried to help.
Looking fondly back.

Looking fondly back,
I look on through my mind’s eye,
A tear running down,
Remembering the time found and lost.
Missed, left and dying.
Like I am inside.
Making of life,
To have it ripped from my chest.
I look fondly back,
Always will,
Remembering and happy-sad.
Looking fondly back.

Killing Me Slowly

The emotions,

The pain,

The sadness,

Overwhelming yet also not.

Emptying even in my exhaustion.

Contemplating some foreign aspects.

Emptying myself like a cup.

Removing all that makes me- me,

All that makes me a being, a person.

Wondering,

As I sit here unfeeling,

Wondering.

Thinking.

Waiting hoping and losing.

Troubles pile on and I sit in astonishment.

Time moves on,

And emotions are killing me slowly.

Black Pearl Of Night

The darkness smooth of night,

Patterns in the dark sky,

The silent night.

The emptiness and the dark.

The smoothness formed from irritation.

The blackness imparted on the rest of the world.

A different form from the day,

Small lights peppered across the landscape.

A dark silence echoed,

A world untouched by light.

The dark rolling hills,

The echoes of human steps taken in the human day.

Echoes of people unknown,

Activities of humans once passed.

Left empty and barren,

The dark wastelands.

The ice cold wind.

The scars left from day,

A counterpoint from the silent empty night.

The lonesome night.

The silent dark night..

The echoes left from day.

To the black pearl of night.

The silence.

The emptiness of space,

The solo existence in this emptiness of night.

Alone in the dark,

The only person in existence.

The solitude of my thoughts.

Left to the darkness,

This black pearl of night.

Empty, alone, silent, and solo.

The dark shadow cast upon,

The rest of the world, dark and empty,

Eternal. Empty. A mere echo.

A black pearl,

In its dark beauty.

Its dark radiant shine.

The dark storm encircling inside.

Black and dark like the inside of my mind,

Silent and in solitude, like the confines of my mind.

A barren blackness, a counterpart to life.

This black pearl I’ve found.

The silence I live.

Mine to hold,

Before the black sky.

This black pearl I’ve found.

Left forgotten.

This black pearl I’ve found.

The black pearl of my life.

What’s Death Got On Me?

What have you got on me,

This death looming,

The endless pain and suffering,

That endless torment.

The noose around my neck as I wish for the  end.

Survived your grasp once,

Challenge you again,

Do your worst.

Bring me down, I’ll show you up.

Throw you down,

Show you what I am made of.

Conquer death as it’s already my life,

Already my living.

To own this world and make you my bitch.

Crushed at every turn and now it is mine.

A stretch to crush you,

To show you,

To own you.

To show you.

I have this.

Death, the mere cessation of living,

Familiar friend, or enemy?

Welcome comfort, to greet my end.

To acknowledge the limitations and differentiations.

What’s death got on me?

Screaming At Your Own Confines

My screams at my own confines.

The walls closing in,

The pain drowning out.

No one to help,

No where to go.

Alone in the confines of my self.

Left confused and looking,

In desperation for a solution.

In desperation for help.

Looking and tearing apart my mind and thoughts.

Looking for a way out, a solution.

An escape.

Some help.

A friend to talk to, in my depths of loneliness.

Even as no one can help,

No one can understand.

What is raging in my mind:

The worry and uncertainty.

The longed for solution,

To my panicked fright,

The looming unknown.

The raging desperation,

Dripping from my mind.

Sapping me dry.

Exhausting my being.

Screaming at the confines with no escape.

Screaming at the being that confines me.

The reality that drains me.

The hurt that kills me,

The world that tears me.

The confines from within my mind,

No help to be found, no solace.

No place to find a solution.

No place to find my escape.

The uncertainty drawing on my mind.

Ripping apart my thoughts,

Focussing my pain.

Sharpening my worry.

Keeping me to the confines,

The chains I try to break.

The walls I try to shout down.

Left screaming at my own confines that keep me, the worries that pains me.

‘Truly A Book To Capture It All’ – Review of Stoner by John Williams


He had wanted the singleness and the still connective passion of marriage; he had that, too, and he had not known what to do with it, and it had died. He wanted love; and he had had love, and had relinquished it, had let it go into the chaos of imagepotentiality.

Katherine, he thought. ‘Katherine.’

And he had wanted to become a teacher, and he had become one; yet he knew, he had always known, that for the most of his life he had been an indifferent one. He had dreamed of a kind of integrity, of a kind of purity that was entire; he had found compromise and the assaulting diversion of triviality. He had conceived wisdom, and at the end of the long years he had found ignorance.

Stoner by John Williams, page 285


Stoner, by John Williams, an usual book to start. But. Totally encapsulating. Containing so much feeling, meaning experience. I will give my review of the book, not really a formal review, but one looking and reflecting on the book, feeling and experience of reading it. I endeavour not to mention explicit spoilers, but I do mention my emotional experiences reading it and the emotions it passed onto me (the inspiration for my poem ‘Feelings Not My Own’)

Stoner, a book of an experience, an experience of fiction, but somewhat real. The feelings it portrays are totally real and totally thrust me into the story, caring, experiencing and feeling.

All of the poems that I wrote yesterday, took inspiration from the book, around the section of the above quote, I had to stop. To savour experiencing the end, the feeling, when I could concentrate and experience without distraction and reflect through this blogpost.

The feelings this book can capture and enstill on the reader, are immense, I would describe this book as an emotional rollercoaster. The feelings of love, happiness, existence and passion, but, at least for me, the book seems to emphasise negative feelings. But not ‘negative feelings’ in the conventional sense. I would describe these feelings as negative, but without feeling, a portrayal of the reality behind existence, the reality behind being, the existence of life, and one’s place within it. Here I shall endeavour to encapsulate my feelings and experiences in regards to the book in its totality:


The discovery and ecstacy of love, finding a crush, the feelings behind planning, the future and struggling and succeeding despite all adversity. The choices to be made in life, choices that make us, shape us, define us. The choices we make, the choices that aren’t owned by ourselves, until we make the decision. Then the choice becomes ours, becomes personal and meaningful. There is also the adversity of life not overcome, adversity in existence, the tiresome living, the hurting of family and friends, the loss of those we care for.

The watching as life rolls by, and we make what we can, leave our mark but inevitably fail to find conventional ‘happiness’, but, find a form of contentment out of the adversity, contentment with pain and dissatisfaction, not out of choice, but out of necessity to keep on living. The pain and somewhat helplessness in dealing with situations and people encountered in life.

The friendships made and kept and solidified through truth, adversity, hardship and mutual love and care. As life goes on, never enough time, never enough done, never enough success to make one feel full and content, nevertheless contentment and perseverence and change to overcome all adversity.

It is totally encapsulating a feeling I cannot express with words; a feeling of contentment out of unrelenting discontentment, of existing without achievement, but continuing to persevere for your aims and continue to keep journeying to achieve them, even if you never actually achieve them, you make the journey anyway and contently, live out your life with the aim in mind, the objective aimed for.

The book’s ending (from around page 285 until the end), I will try not to spoil (as much as I can while expressing my more affective ‘review’). One that encapsulates the book, the ending, a fitting end, one that captures and summarises the whole book, not in a repetitive manner, but one suitable to, in my opinion, its aimed portrayal, of life, without highlight of the good times, without hiding the bad times, but merely portraying human experience, in a way that truly resonated with me. The portrayal of sadness, closing, finality and happiness, dissatisfaction, reminiscing and also summarising and deep-contemplation. The very last page. Written to perfection. Even thinking of it, causes my eyes to well-up. A perfect, concise, summarised end. Like the finalities found in everyday living, without show, or celebration, without positivity or negativity, just sweet, maybe reluctant, but nevertheless final, end. Drifting off into silence. As the words on the page end with the final period… and then… silence.


A powerful story, I know that I paint a bleak picture of the novel, but, it is more than this. It’s more than the sum of its parts (not to mention the subjective experience of the reader that needs not be said). It is a book, not everyone will like, it’s writing is definitely unconventional, but I find this is its beauty, it captures reality, as nothing else does. Captures reality, much like my poetry does for me, and also the poetry I read from many others on WordPress. Capturing reality, for what it is. The highs of the good experience, the lows of the bad. The real life existence. The one we share, both content, and also discontent.

Although I say it’s a novel that not everyone will ‘like’, I would say that I think everyone should give it a read. I would unapologetically be happy to suggest this  novel to anyone I know, especially anyone I feel comfortable to talk to about personal and emotional matters.

To personally summarise this novel and my experience reading it in very few words:

A book that captures reality. For what it is.

 

 

I would like to write a note, to my very close friend who gifted this novel to me, inspirsation for ‘Little Gift From the Heart‘, thank you so very much for this book. I sure hope that you do not see this review, and if you do… that you do not think it too harsh, or feel the book’s been a saddening experience. It has been a realistic experience, a vicarious living and experiencing of a life, not my own. Yet also I see past experiences, events, ways of thinking also appear throughout this book, almost every couple of pages. This book was a mixed experience to read, but an invaluable one, and one I am a better person for reading. Thank you, thank you very much Ruby.