From Anxiety To Poetry. Simon Read

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      Summer turns to autumn

      Tired leaves fall

      Deep water blackens

      And you don’t call.

      Autumn turns to winter

      Flowers wilt and die

      Cold snow deepens

      And you don’t reply.

      Winter turns to spring

      Baby ducks so small

      Nature starts over

      And you don’t call.

      Spring turns to summer,

      Ducklings learn to fly

      Another year passes

      And you don’t reply.

      On Christmas Eve when I was ten

      I watched the A-Team with my friend

      No thoughts of yuletide festivity

      We were both in awe of Mr. T.

      Not ones to suffer from any self-doubt

      The A-Team always found their way out

      A formidable force we all did agree

      And the strongest of all was Mr. T.

      I read some Albert Camus

      To learn about absurdity

      But I didn’t make any breakthrough

      Isn’t that just the irony!

      Filling with sadness

      Slipping to madness

      Sat up in bed

      Thoughts spinning my head.

      Every night at 3 am

      Regular as clockwork

      Infuriating thought mayhem

      Overrunning mind-work.

      Sisyphus toils

      Head spun

      Blood boils

      Exhaustion.

      3 then 2 then 1

      Then none

      No hours left

      Bloody day has come!

      «What’s my purpose?» The boy asked the breeze

      «Go to the woods and amongst the trees

      Seek the Blue Fairy for She will know

      The meaning of life and your path to follow.»

      The Wind replied in the boy’s anxious mind

      And steered him gently so that he could find

      The bluest fairy in the deepest dark woods

      And show him the road from child to manhood.

      He dreamt of brightness

      But at sunrise

      He found only darkness

      And tormented skies.

      He dreamt of beauty

      But in the day

      He found only ugliness

      And relentless decay.

      He dreamt of laughter

      But at sunset

      He found only sadness

      And endless regret.

      Summer’s here

      The forecast lied

      For when I go out

      It’s raining outside.

      Summer’s here

      The radio said

      But when I go out

      It rains on my head.

      Summer’s here

      The songbirds sing

      And so I go out

      But it’s still raining.

      Summer’s here

      But the rain’s incessant

      So I’ll write poetry

      For my antidepressant.

      Stray not near the lake

      For its dark depths conceal

      A ravenous mermaid

      In search of a meal.

      Stray not near the lake

      With thoughts of your hunger

      Else the ravenous mermaid

      Shall drag you down under.

      The boy asked the tree

      Marking the crossroad

      «Which way to follow?

      Which path am I showed?»

      The tree said wisely

      For it already knew

      «Go which way wherever

      The Wind shall take you.»

      I always seem to get it wrong

      Knowing which way I should step

      When faced with oncoming people

      Move to my right or to their left?

      My choice is always СКАЧАТЬ