HOPE

Vainly optimistic I was

believing my life

would be long, eternal even

and dotted with successes

to be proud of

so I'd be worthy in the eyes of someone

and therefore, above all, be loved.

Now, my sole task's to find

some hope to cling to,

such craving for a little more time

to live, a miracle -

because such things 

can happen if we truly believe in them.

And I so, so want to survive.

The arbitrary onslaught

of rogue cells predict my demise:

the ultimate conflict

between tainted flesh and sharp scalpel.

Oh let me be brave and dwell

not on dying, nor on giving up - but on victory,

on finally defeating the enemy within...

I'm going into hospital on Monday to have an operation. I hope to visit you all again soon.

In the meantime...have a great week, my dear friends 😊😊 xxx

THE MIND

A complicated mind

shaped my destiny.

That same mind fed me

the many untruths

that bred my myriad phobias.

Why did I never question them?

When I ventured out into the world

I saw only reflections

of another's paranoia.

Society was a forbidding concept

filled with dangerous pitfalls, so I feared

every shadow, mistrusted every stranger's smile.

Later, within my poetry,

that mind's unfulfilled dreams found expression

in a kind of mournful angst. It also

laced my relationships with a deadly poison:

"Men are the enemy. Never trust them!"

Self fulfilling prophesy. Inward struggle.

Who am I really?

Now, sometimes I question

if it ever was that other mind at all,

but was actually mine all along.

Other times, I wonder if it could be

a genetic anomaly in my psyche

that so warps intuition and fuels

my quest for the inexplicable, the

impossible ideal that other mind

spent a lifetime seeking

yet never ever found.

Have I, indeed, become my mother?

Is it possible that these thoughts

running through my head - these, now,

originated in another mind

that is continuing to influence me

from beyond the grave?

Or is it simply that I am cursed

with the kind of mind that thinks too much? 😉

SUSPICION

Silence gnawed at you. And the terror

of being betrayed: a threatening dark enemy,

the piercing indifferent

destruction of bloody battle sword. After

the glowing sunrise, these were

the emotions that beset you. They filled

my vacant space, and when self-esteem

eluded you, this torment

took it's place. But I

was probably on the beach, just sunbathing

with Anna, no more immoral intent in me

than in the illicit lover

I'd never even imagined. A real lover

may have felt uneasy,

left with haste

when the grotesque malignance of your mistrust -

half victim, half inquisitor, totally

illogical and stuffed with your unexpressed past hurts -

crept relentlessly without hindrance

towards me through the sunlit streets,

through the crowded car park,

tainted my sun oil in it's brown-tinted bottle

and angrily glared at me

with the unjust accusations

that were rapidly becoming the norm.

My double life - the life you have invented

for me inside your head - is comically erotic,

is lived by an effigy wearing my face.

Monstrous allegations and emotional blackmail

have become the story of my life.

And the steps to our front door

have grown into a daunting,

treacherous mountain

that I no longer have the will to climb.