All parts foreign unto me.

But the cobblestones grow homely,

As I realise I’ve come to be

A pebble lodged in a stony wall,

Or a leaf on a tree in the park.

A student in a crowd of a thousand,

A common streetlight in the dark.

I grow used to the sights and sounds and smells,

I’m woven in like a thread.

This move has meant my utter freedom.

But I cannot escape; am I alive or am I dead?

We were born free…but everywhere we are in chains.

Lashed around your safe warm chest.

Hear you whispering in my ear,

Though your touch tells me the rest.

See your eyes looking down at mine,

Full of softness and such love.

I wish this moment could last forever,

I’m soaring over the clouds above.

Your beloved streets will always be home.

Whether I’m down and depressed,

Or soaring the skies,

Your warming embrace will keep me alive.

Your rain spattered streets, and alleys so dark

Will never lose their appealing spark.

The people within you,

Like air in lungs,

Are partying it up

Before we’ve even begun.

And now homewards I walk,

With suitcase in hand.

My heart may be broken,

But you’ll lend me your hand;

To heal my many wounds

And bring me back to my feet.

Oh Glasgow I love you,

And every one of your streets.

Otherwise my mind goes reeling

Thinking of the pain I’ll endure,

While I’m proving that my love is pure.

You love me deep, you love me true,

And yet I can’t help feeling blue.

My trust was shattered long ago

For reasons that I’ll never know.

The darkest thoughts of my heart, they linger

As I stare around with outstretched finger

To place the blame of my deepest woe.

But by doing this, my loved ones go…

I drive away the things I want.

Do I enjoy this emptiness and pain?

The ones I love and need, they leave…

Is it simply because…I’m insane?

And claps upon the cold damp ground.

Noises from the living room are muffled,

And can’t comfort my heart with their sound.

We’re apart for another evening,

And yet another one after this.

I miss you like I would my heart,

And when we are together it’s bliss.

My heart stays with you,

In turn I have yours.

I cannot let it go.

For I need it to live,

And will keep it safe,

For now and forever more.

Drifting in through the light morning air,

Stirs my stomach

As I awake and descend the creaking stair.

The kettle hums

As I find a mug and collapse in the nearest chair.

It’s 8am,

Too early for this, and so agrees my messy hair.

Mornings are fun.

Torn my soul out from my chest.

You’ve led me kindly into your arms

And cut off all else.

For you and you alone,

Became the purpose of my existence.

And I don’t know what to do,

Now you’ve thrown me away.

I trusted you enough,

To be carried over hot coals.

I shouldn’t have begun this journey,

Because I’ve been dropped halfway across.

We could overcome anything,

I really thought I knew.

But abandoning me by choice…

Unlike you,

THAT, I could never do.

All eyes they focus on the stage ahead
As burning sun beats down upon their heads.
Throughout, the fields resound with pulsing beats;
A paradox of Dissonance and Peace.
The squelching mud beneath my boots grows thick,
In order not to sink I must move quick.
Stampeding feet destroy all grass around,
So I attempt to find some pleasant ground.
A tranquil spot is found off to the side
And others here avoid the swelling tide.
We lie around and listen to the songs,
We talk and laugh, drift amiably along.
Despite the fact that none of them are friends,
We each begin our tales as others end.

Some students dwelled among those in the crowd.
They talked, they sang, they drank, they partied loud.
A group of three took refuge from the fun
Among our lot who gathered in the sun.
The first she faced the sun, the orange glow
Showed porcelain skin as pale as winter snow.
Her hair was dyed, her clothes were mostly black
And names of bands were stitched on her rucksack.
Her eyes were blue, and nervously did dart,
She seemed at every sudden sound she’d start.
This girl she was a student of the Arts;
She claims she felt the rhythm in her heart
And had to take the path her fate had set;
She couldn’t face the world filled with regret.
Her home-town friends, they never understood
Her need to leave her tiny neighbourhood,
Get out and find the things that would seem new,
Discover who she was, just get a clue
To what the world might hold, aside from hate.
She had to go before it was too late.
It seemed her hunger lay with written words,
Devouring every book, she seemed absurd.
She saw the might that Pen and Paper held
And wrote down everything her mind expelled.
A world she could create with her own ink,
Her hands, her mind, she only had to think.
Shut off from all distractions she did go
Exploring things she thought she’d never know.
From urban life in cities to the world
Beyond the sea. Imagination whirled
And danced around her till she found that she
Could be whatever she would like to be.

She told her tale and slowly sipped her drink,
Her friends they were too drunk to even think.
Their hair in disarray, their clothes all stained.
I asked, was her enthusiasm feigned?
Behind her jet black hair she muttered, “no”,
Although, at times she felt it all a show.
Her bony fingers clutched her bottle tight
And then she stood and wandered out of sight.
Her vintage clothes hung loose despite her frame
She never did return, nor give her name.

And now we see the unemployed man;
He’s with his son; the boy lives with his Gran.
The father’s clothes, their colours seems to fade;
They’re caked in stains with edges badly frayed.
His cotton jumper hangs upon his back
All focus in his gaze he seems to lack,
A stubble lingers on his bony chin
And dirt infests his grubby nails and skin.
He slumps, and in his drunken stupor sips
The drink that seems to never leave his lips.
In alcohol his very soul seems drenched,
We keep our distance to avoid the stench.
Affording food’s the father’s main concern
But money’s difficult for him to earn.
The mother left her son at one year old,
She “couldn’t cope with stress”, so he was told.
His father scrimped and saved to make ends meet;
His sister had to save him from the street,
She helped him get a mediocre job,
But cannot stop him boozing at the pub.
“Relieving pressure”; this is why he drinks,
Without it he’s just tott’ring on the brink
Of self-destruction, with that comes more pain,
No alcohol might mean he goes insane.
(Just now he’s drinking as I watch him talk.
His eyelids droop, he slurs, can barely walk.)
His son is silent, never speaks a word;
The ones his father shares are always slurred.
Although he shows no signs of life it’s clear
That all he wants to do is disappear.
The boy, he watches but avoids all eyes
(Just once he moves and causes much surprise).
He stands and reaches deep into his bag
And then we watch him whilst he smokes a fag.
His body language calms as he forgets
His father, future, and his past regrets.
His face becomes obscured by smoke and hair
And though he seems relaxed his face still bears
A sadness that’s reflected in his frown.
He sees me stare; his darkened face looks down.
Despite his broken home what we can see
Is just an average teen. He has acne
And greasy hair. But even so, he’s bolder
Than teens who face no problems till they’re older.

A lawyer there was also, seated on
His tiny bag. His eyes they brightly shone,
Despite the fact he seemed so unprepared,
Our band of strange companions gladly shared.
We’d get him through the weekend all the same.
It’s what you get at festivals, they claim.
He seems so clean with hair so neatly slick,
A single straying strand curls out. A flick
And suddenly it’s straight and neat once more
(Completely different from the man before).
His shoulders broad, he stands so straight and tall
His arms are like machines, his chest a wall.
His eyes as blue as oceans; hints of green
Add beauty to the kindest eyes I’ve seen.
They huddle close together, gleaming bright
As stars that twinkle in the dead of night.
His old and chipped guitar is by his side;
A trusty friend on whom he has relied.
The weathered wood will travel with him ‘till
His heart has ceased and all his body’s still.
And so he told the story of his past,
A whirring blur where nothing ever lasts.
He used to be a country boy at heart,
Career decisions tend to play their part.
Though schooling in the Law he did receive;
The problem is the future can deceive.
A world that’s all appointments, no free time
The rules and regulations are the crime.
He feels imprisoned, trapped in dingy rooms,
From which he can’t escape, they’ve sealed his doom.
But love of music carries him along,
A passion for the sound makes him belong.
He eloquently spoke of Music’s place,
Consuming life so much it had replaced
All other things his heart had once held dear,
Including friends and family. It’s clear
That Music has become his sturdy land.
The sea of Life he cannot understand.

As dusk descends and darkness creeps along
Our lawyer plucks away and sings his song.
Beyond his musky voice the parties roar
But certain sounds are easy to ignore.
The gentle humming strings, they sooth the night
As crickets chirp and cold begins to bite.
A flask of whisky warms from heads to toes
And as the day unwinds exhaustion grows.

At night I can reflect on what I’ve heard
As during daytime everything seems blurred
And hazy. In my tent, my secret den,
I think alone and hear the tales again.
These stories tell me several people’s lives,
Their hist’ry, future, how they will survive.
Some filled with joy and others with despair,
Some filled with hope, some lost beyond repair.
I judge them not, I cannot know them truly.
They could be sane, their minds could be unruly.
And I can’t help, I don’t know how to solve
The many problems that they can’t resolve.
“But nonetheless, forget and have some fun;
Ignore your troubles, party in the sun.”
Philosophy seems rare to find out here
Its substitutes are sex and drugs and beer.
Though still we share we never can redeem
Mistakes we made. So all we have are dreams.

We lastly turn to me, but can I share
The thoughts I have inside, and do I dare?
It seems that all I know is what they’ve said,
On speaking my own thoughts I carefully tread.
I’d rather not reveal to them my mind,
As I don’t even know what we will find.
I cannot tell them secrets, neither lies;
Of troubles they don’t know, they can’t advise.
But could they help? And that I cannot say…
My mind stays silent till my dying day.

Like the crumbling walls of an ancient tower.

Once glorious and magnificent in its prime,

But now fading away and dissolving into ash

That’s soon forgotten.

Old names and faces disappear,

As my own mind and body ages.

New experiences and life awaits me,

I feel scared, excited, ready.

But I’ll look back upon that glorious tower,

Visit the ruins once or twice.

Leave it to fade away gradually,

But it’ll never really be gone.

With my tainted heart,

Unclean skin,

And unpure soul…

You deserve much better than me.

Invisible accusing fingers

Twist to point at me,

They’re not even yours, but I’m always judged.

I’m guilty of my sins.

I’m scared,

And you’re far too good for me.

I judge myself,

Because I’m in the wrong and see it.

All I can do is apologise,

And love you with all my heart.