Ripped Away
01/10/2023
I couldn’t believe it, When you said that you wanted to be with me, It was a fantasy come true, But the madness in my head, ripped it all away.
Continue readingRob Joseph
Free Verse Poetry
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I couldn’t believe it, When you said that you wanted to be with me, It was a fantasy come true, But the madness in my head, ripped it all away.
Continue readingAs the hooded monk skulks in the twilight, And a frog leaps into a pool, A snake slithers through the long grass, And you pass silently in my arms.
Continue readingThe secretive girl,Just a mystery to me,Behind the barbed wires,Where no one can see. You hide in the darkness,Just light from above,But you have a wanting,A craving for love. But you are locked away,And you play solitaire,Scratching at the wall,Pulling…
Continue readingThe daylight passes quickly by,The moonlight comes and goes,The seasons pass in the blink of an eye,And the years in which we grow.The hair turns to a steely grey,The wrinkles appear at the eyes,But the loneliness is here to stay,So…
Continue readingThe mask that you wear,And you peek quietly from behind,Let it shatter to the floor,And unveil yourself to me.
Continue readingWhen death’s icy grip takes you,And the sands of time run dry,When the reaper arrives to steal your soul,Use two coins to cover your eyes.
Continue readingThe castle walls,That keep me in,Stone blocks,That keep you out,Break down the walls,If you can,And search for me.For I am there,Hiding in the shadows,Pressed tightly against the cold stone blocks.
Continue readingMy roots are so deep,That when I am gone,There will still be a memory of me.
Continue readingYou abandoned me, I was just six weeks old, You threw me away, And now I’m truly broken.
Continue readingDarcy is at over 1100 words, my longest piece to date, and I banged It out in approximately 3 hours, and that 3 hours was at the end of a shift in the factory. Not only is Darcy my longest…
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I found a conker today,
A deep rustic brown,
The sunlight was shining on it,
And my thoughts of Autumn are plenty.
It seems that a glass or two of red wine, is good for the poet in me
