Poem By Cerys Grant

On torture hell bent!
Your mind will not let you repent!
Your soul to the underworld has been sent!

There is a constant wrestling and writhing,
coherence is just barely surviving,
you are deep in chaos hiding,
and all the while inner turmoil is thriving.

Your purpose is completely senseless,
your constitution makes you defenceless,
you feel this iron tenseness,
which makes you utterly helpless.

When will this reign of terror end?
When will you learn to be your friend?
Strength is elastic, it will help you bend,
and enable you, for yourself to fend.

How does one learn to live in peace?
How does one force this fear to cease?
How does one survive a war?
When you have been cracked to your inner most core?

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Cleopatra’s needle stings like a bee.
Cleopatra’s needle is embedded in me.
Who the hell does Cleopatra think she is anyway?
And where is Cleopatra hiding in my sunny day?

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All encompassing reality,
Could be a single diversion.
From this comprehension,
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Light be light,
And dust be dust.
It's only this
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The Nomads

Born of self preservation,
to join in the cyclic dance.
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who were here long before us.

The Cellular Principle

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Is opposite to that of the sun,
but the motion stays the same.
Time is an absorption of space between events.

The Cover Of A Face

Do not judge a book by its cover,
This we have been told.
Do not judge a man by his face,
Sometimes the darkest of eyes